by Amy Cross
Silence.
"Please!"
No response.
Feeling another rumble beneath the floor, I head back across the darkened cell. Seconds later, there's a kind of grinding sound nearby, and I glance over my shoulder, almost expecting to find that someone has come to my door.
"Hello?" I call out.
Silence.
The grinding sound continues, and after a moment I realize that the floor seems to be vibrating, as if the source of the noise is coming up from the depths, getting closer and closer.
"Hello?"
Before I can react, however, the floor suddenly seems to give away beneath my feet and I drop down, tumbling into a long, wide stone tube that leads deep beneath my cell. I try desperately to grab onto the sides, but I'm already falling too fast and by the time I've managed to come up with any kind of plan, I slam into a curved stone wall and come to a rest in some kind of small, pitch-black space.
As I try to get to my feet, I hear a grinding sound above my head. Reaching up, I feel a section of stonework sliding shut, covering the passage that brought me down here. I try to stop it or pull it back, but the force is too strong and finally there's a heavy shudder and I realize that I've been sealed in. Dropping down to the bottom of the small round space, I desperately start trying to find a way out, but the stonework feels too firm to be moved. I'm trapped in a small, spherical stone room that's no more than a few feet across.
"Hello!" I shout.
Silence.
My heart is racing as I sit in the darkness and try to work out what happened. It's as if some kind of trap-door in the floor of my cell opened up and sent me plummeting down into this smaller, round room, which seems like a containment facility or an old oubliette. Still, there has to be a way out of here. After all, why the hell would someone send me down here? Unless they were hoping to forget about me... That's what oubliettes were designed for: they were special kind of medieval dungeon, used for storing people who were supposed to be forgotten. No food, no water, no contact... Just left to starve and rot, without even the prospect of anyone coming to look for a body.
"No-one's gonna forget me," I mutter, trying to kick some of the stones free. They're held firmly in place, but I'm damn well not going to just sit here and wait for the end to come.
Suddenly I realize that there's another grinding sound, this time coming from below. I climb up the side of the curved wall, and seconds later I see a hint of light starting to emerge from between some of the lower stones. In stunned silence, I watch as a circular panel finally slides open to reveal another tube, just like the one I fell down earlier but leading even deeper beneath Tor Cliff. This time, however, there's a kind of bright reddish light glowing further down, and after a moment I realize that there's a scratching sound coming from the depths.
I take a deep breath, and then finally I scramble across the stones until I'm at the edge of the opening.
Peering into the tube, I realize that the reddish light is flickering, as if there's some kind of huge flame far below. Seconds later, I spot something moving, and to my horror I realize that there's a dark figure, slowly climbing up toward me. I watch as it gets closer and closer, its fingers making the scratching sound I heard earlier, and soon I can see that the creature's face is blackened and burned.
"What do you want?" I shout.
There's no reply. The creature simply continues to come closer and closer, as if it's determined to get to me as quickly as possible.
Backing away from the hole, I watch as one of the creature's black arms reaches out and starts grasping at me, as if it's determined to get hold of my body and pull me down. Flakes of black, ashy skin fall from the creature's body, and there are dark, bloodied patches below. Whatever this thing is, it seems to have been horrifically burned.
"Thanks but no thanks," I mutter, before kicking the creature's arm and slamming it into the side of the hole.
From deep below, there's a crackled scream, but no matter how hard I push, the blackened hand continues to grasp at me; moments later, the creature hauls its entire body up through the hole and throws itself at me, pinning me against the stone wall.
I reach up and try to push the creature away, but it's too powerful for me and slowly it leans its burned face closer to me. Two dark eyes stare deep into my soul, and after a moment I realize that the creature is making a kind of rasping, hissing sound. Up close, its skin seems horribly burned and charred, as if it lives in the fires of hell.
"So you're the beast of Tor Cliff, huh?" I whisper, my mind racing as I try to work out how to get free. "Why don't we -"
Before I can finish, the creature grabs my neck and hurls me down toward the hole. I manage to grab the edge, but seconds later the creature pushes me again, and this time I only manage to hang on by one hand. I can feel the heat from below already reaching up to me, but as I try to pull myself free, the creature leans over me and stares for a moment.
"Let's talk about this," I gasp, hoping to talk my way out of trouble, but it's too late.
The creature pushes my hand away, and I fall, tumbling down into the flames below.
Epilogue
At night, he sits alone in the cold forest, watching the asylum from a distance; or, to be more precise, watching the hopes and fears of the patients, rising up from the windows like smoke from the chimneys of their dreams.
Dronigan has long been fascinated by the asylum, which lurks alone in the middle of a forest that has otherwise been left completely untouched. A thin road winds its way between the trees, connecting the asylum to some far-off place that Dronigan can't even begin to understand. As far as he's concerned, the whole world is contained in the view he can see right now: the vast forest, the asylum, and the road that leads away. For a moment, he tries to imagine some other kind of place that might exist beyond the horizon, but such a thing feels completely impossible. There is only the forest, and the dark little asylum at its heart, and Dronigan.
Why would there be anything else?
Occasionally, Dronigan spots movement at one of the asylum's doors. There are people in the building, and from time to time they have to emerge for various reasons, although they never stay outside for long. It's almost as if they're scared of something. Then there are the patients who sometimes manage to slip away; they run through the forest, filled with fear, and Dronigan can never resist chasing them. He has no particular desire to kill them, but they always end up dead anyway. Living creatures, even vampires, can be so fragile, and Dronigan draws strength from the knowledge that none of the asylum's occupants can threaten him. Even if they all came out at once, he could have them dead within seconds.
But that wouldn't be any fun.
Reaching down, Dronigan tears away an arm from the dead nurse and starts chewing on the bloodied meat. When he gets to the bone, he opens his jaw wider, dislocating it entirely as he struggles to fit the meal into his mouth; he crunches down hard, and finally he's able to break off a small sliver of bone, which he crunches into smaller pieces before swallowing. For the first time in his existence, Dronigan no longer feels as if his belly is aching, and he likes this new sensation.
"Food," he whispers, still getting used to both the word and the concept.
Food. That's what the girl from the asylum called it, anyway. He would have killed her just like he kills all the other escapees, but she was so helpful and he felt that he should repay her kindness in some way. So he let her live, and he took her back home to her little cell. No-one noticed him carrying her through the corridors, for the simple reason that he refused to allow them to notice him. He had never been inside the asylum before, and he found the experience to be highly unusual. Perhaps the most interesting thing that he found in there was the place where food is kept. Although he has managed to restrain himself so far, Dronigan is becoming more and more fascinated by this strange new idea, and he feels that his limits are starting to increase.
In the distance, there's the sound of a scream, rising
up from somewhere deep with the asylum.
"Food," he says again, before ripping a more meat from the nurse's arm.
He often wonders why the asylum was built. He notices the occasional arrival of new patients, and he also notices that no-one ever seems to leave. To him, the asylum is an enigma, and although he usually takes care not to get too close, he can't help but study its walls incessantly, hoping to some day understand the purpose of such a place. So far, he has come to the conclusion that many of the people in the asylum want to leave, but that others are forcing them to stay. This makes little sense to Dronigan, and he starts to frown as he tries to understand what could possibly motivate one group of people to behave in such a way toward another group.
Deep beneath the forest floor, there's a brief rumble.
The beast is stirring.
As he finishes devouring the nurse's arm, Dronigan gets to his feet. He's seen enough for one night, and now that he has real meat and real bone to consume, he no longer feels the need to steal dreams from the asylum's inmates. Reaching down, he grabs the remains of the nurse's carcass and starts dragging her through the forest so that he can find a more private place to continue his meal.
And to think. He needs to think, and to plan his next move carefully.
Part Five
The Garden of Dead Souls
Prologue
"Katia!" he calls. "I need you!"
Sighing, she realizes that there's no point trying to delay the moment any longer. She walks to the mirror and checks that her uniform is neat, and after brushing away a few creases, she turns and heads to the door. She rarely gets more than a few minutes alone these days, and even when she's at peace, she knows that sooner or later that voice will call out for her again, demanding her help. It has been like this ever since she arrived, and she can't foresee any situation in which she might ever be able to escape.
This, she realizes, is her life now.
"Where have you been?" he asks as soon as she enters the main office. "I've been calling for hours!"
"I was sleeping," she replies, even though it's not entirely accurate; she was alone, and she was still, and her mind was filled with thoughts of other places and other people, but she wasn't asleep. She was simply dreaming, while awake, of better times. "I'm sorry. Was no-one else available to help you?"
"They're all upstairs," he replies. "Helping him."
"Tell me what you need," she says as she makes her way over to him. She knows that it's always best to just cooperate and try to soothe his soul, but she stops as soon as she sees the naked body of one of her fellow nurses on the operating table. "What happened?" she asks, stunned by the sight.
"I'm a genius," he replies. "Remember that. Never, ever forget it. But I need help; I need someone to assist me with my work, and if you insist upon running off to do other things, how am I supposed to get things done? I mean, look at this." He holds up his hands, to show her the blood dripping between his fingers. "It takes me twice as long to work when I'm alone, and the patient always ends up suffering."
"I'm sorry," she says again. "I was just -"
"Dreaming?"
"Sleeping."
"Hold this," he replies, passing her a small screwdriver. "Have it ready for when I need it. This is a delicate procedure, and if I make one wrong move, I could end up completely disabling this unit with no hope of repair. I don't know if she's capable of feeling pain, but if she is, I'm quite certain that she must be in agony."
Stepping closer, Katia looks into the cavity that has been opened up in the nurse's chest, and she sees that buried in the blood and muscle there's a set of thick bronze wires. Although she has seen many experiments in recent weeks, she still shudders at the thought that one day, if she's unlucky, it might be her turn to be opened up and filled with whatever devices the man old man has come up with. He spends his days devising a series of increasingly horrific procedures, all in the name of science and discovery, and she fears that when he runs out of other subjects, he'll turn to her.
"Nothing works around here," he mutters as he uses a pair of tweezers to lift one of the bronze wires. "I'm forced to make do with the most awful equipment. I never would have put up with it in the past, you know. In the old days, I had everything I could possibly have wanted, including assistants who actually knew what they were doing. I was able to call upon the finest minds, and my evenings were spent in the company of other geniuses who could actually understand my work." He pauses for a moment, as if he can't help thinking back to the old days. "Such a glorious time," he says, staring into space with a faint smile. "We all felt that we were really getting somewhere, you know. It was a golden age, and then the war..." His voice trails off. "Well, then the war came, and everything went to hell."
She smiles politely.
"You don't understand," he continues, pulling one end of the bronze wire out of the cavity and wiping blood from its surface. "I suppose this, to you, seems positively barbaric, doesn't it? You probably think that I'm some kind of butcher, carving people up in order to fulfill some kind of sick perversion." He turns to her. "That was his side of things, you know. He was the one who couldn't control his desires. I used to do all I could to keep him in check, but his mind was falling apart in the end. Such brilliance, held together for so long, but I think that in the end he just couldn't sustain that level of work for more than a few decades. Perhaps no-one could."
She stares at him, not knowing what to say.
"Give me that," he says, snatching the screwdriver from her hand. "Tell me about the girl. Is Abigail awake yet?"
"Not yet," she replies. "She's sleeping. I wasn't sure when to wake her."
"She should be up by now," he continues, jabbing the screwdriver into the cavity and starting to push past the meat until he reaches a bronze box buried deep in the corpse's chest. "Once you're done here, go and wake her, and bring her to me. I need to talk to her about the next stage. She'll most likely be suspicious, and it'll take some time to -" He pauses as there's a distant banging sound. "What the hell's that?"
"It sounds like it's coming from the gate," she replies. "Do you want me to go and check?"
"When you're done here," he replies. "Not before. Whatever's happening down there, it's low priority."
"Perhaps it's Dronigan," she suggests.
"Of course it's not Dronigan," the old man replies testily. "Why would Dronigan be making such a racket? You really don't know much, do you?"
Preferring not to answer, she watches as he continues to work on the corpse's chest. The banging sound can still be heard in the distance, and she knows that the only person who would ever come to the gate is Dronigan; still, she understands that it's not her place to contradict her superiors.
"This is no good," he says eventually. "No good at all. The whole thing is going to need to be rewired. Still, I think I can patch it up for now, but only because I'm a genius, you understand. Anyone else would give up and have her thrown into the garbage, but I think I see a way forward." He pauses, muttering something inaudible under his breath. "If only I had the right equipment," he says eventually. "How am I supposed to work in these conditions?" He turns to her. "Eh? How?"
"I'm sure you do a wonderful job with the tools at your disposal," she replies diplomatically, hoping that a little flattery might calm him. "Everyone talks about how much you've achieved."
"You don't know what you're talking about," he continues, waving her away. "Go on. Go and tend to Abigail Hart. Make sure she's awake, and then bring her to me. It's about time we got things moving around here."
"Of course," she replies, turning and heading to the door.
Once she's out in the corridor, she allows herself to pause for a moment. She always hates it when she sees one of his experiments being conducted, but she knows that there's nothing she can do to stop him. Still, she longs for the day when she might be able to get away from this place and go back to her father. Taking a deep breath, she heads toward the room where Abigail is sleep
ing. A part of her feels guilty for what she's about to do, but at the same time she understands that she has no choice.
In the distance, the banging sound continues, almost as if Dronigan is angry.
Chapter One
Abby Hart
I don't notice the spider at first.
Sitting by the window, my attention is drawn to the cold forest outside. Heavy clouds hang low in the sky, and the entire scene is bathed in a kind of ice blue, and the window panes are encrusted with frost. After a moment, I reach out and place a hand against the glass; in here, in this empty old gray room, I'm warm, but the window is freezing and I'm certain that if I were to somehow force the rusted locks apart and try to get outside, I'd be blasted by the chill. Dronigan must be out there somewhere.
And then I see the spider, making his way across the outside of the glass.
Leaning closer, I look carefully at his underside, and after a moment he stops, as if to let me get a better view. I can see him quivering and trembling, as if he's struggling to remain on the window as an icy window blows outside. Still, I feel as if in some strange way, he's trying to tell me something; it's almost as if a voice is trying to get through the glass and enter my mind. For a moment, the shape of the spider - a black dot at the center of eight long, thin legs - becomes almost abstract, and then I realize that something has changed: the creature is no longer trembling, and instead of being outside, it's now on the inside of the glass, as if it managed to pass through.
"Clever," I mutter, wondering how it managed that particular trick.
