Nine Eyes: Terror From The Deep

by C. J. Waller

  Two little figures were now sitting on the edge of the dinghy, their backs to them. Decker mouthed the conversation they would be having: one about safety, about communication, about sticking together and not taking risks. He knew it by heart, because he was the one who usually gave it. Not today, though. No, today neither love nor money could get him in that boat. A shiver chased its way down his back. He hadn't gone, but he'd let Paul go. Paul, the one who mattered most to him, was balancing precariously near the edge, dangling the probe that would pick up the divers voices into the water.

  He'd let him go.

  He took in a shuddering breath and raised his gaze, finding a spot on the other side of the loch. There, a small gap in the cliff side held his attention and finally, the long-buried memory slipped its leash.

  All Decker could do was watch.

  Chapter Ten

  They sat together, their legs dangling precariously over the edge of the cliff. This was something else the children of Dùisg a' Pheacaich had been forbidden from doing, but Brandon supposed that if it was your Dad you were doing it with, it was okay to sometimes break the rules. A hundred feet below, the loch stretched out as far as he could see, and at its centre, St Machan's spire rose.

  No one bothered them. But then again, why would they? Most of the time, the villagers avoided the loch, and no outsiders ever came here, despite its beauty. The whole place felt wild and lonely, but the isolation that might crush another soul did not affect Brandon. It was all he'd ever known, after all.

  His father didn’t say anything for the longest time; he just sat, one arm around his son’s shoulders, the other steadying itself against the grassy edge of the cliff. When they had first approached, Brandon had hesitated, scared of Breaking the Rules, but his father had smiled sadly and beckoned him on nonetheless, saying it was okay and what his grandmother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  “I want you to promise me something, Brandon,” his father said, shattering the fragile silence between them.

  “Okay, Daddy.” He answered immediately, because no matter what he wanted, Brandon would do it. He looked up at his father, who was gazing over the loch, his expression caught perfectly between awe and fear.

  “I mean it. No matter what happens, you must keep your promise.”

  A lump, unexpected and fiercely hot, rose in Brandon’s throat. He swallowed; he didn’t want Daddy to see him crying, not so soon after he’d shed a few tears of his own. Rather than speak, he nodded his head vigorously. No matter what Daddy asked, he’d do it. He had to. He was father.

  John sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Promise me you’ll look after your Mammy.”

  Now the lump expanded, making his eyes water. Look after Mammy? Why would he need to do that? Of course, if he had to, he would… but why would he? Daddy was here. Daddy was here to look after both of them.

  John shifted his attention from the loch to his son. “Brandon?”

  “Yes, Dad?” he croaked.

  “You promise?”

  “I do.”

  “Say it. So I know you mean it.”

  “I… I promise that I’ll look after Mammy.”

  He ruffled Brandon’s hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Good boy. I believe you.”

  A question rose, monstrous in its insistence, but before Brandon could ask why his father needed this promise, he stood up, pulling him to his feet as if he had sensed it coming and wanted to head it off at the pass.

  “Come on – we should get going. Mammy’s cooking something special tonight, so we don’t want to be late.”

  The question sank back down. He’d ask it later.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took the divers a few, heart-stopping seconds to get their bearings and begin filming. Water conditions were reported as good, which came as a surprise. Paul fiddled with the feed, hoping to strengthen their signal, but it wasn't to be. All the while, both Piers and Mags kept up a kind of holiday-guide type commentary, talking about plant life and fish – or indeed, the lack of them. Sure, it was never like it was in the movies where great shoals of silver circled the heroic divers, but you at least expected to catch sight of something. Down there, though, it seemed like there was nothing. Well, nothing apart from the church.

  “Whoa,” Piers breathed. “You guys have to see this.”

  “Yeah, Piers, thanks – gonna need more detail than that,” Paul said into his own radio mic. “What can you see?”

  “It’s not just a church – it’s more like a cathedral. Must have been built in a hollow or something, because this baby has to be at least eighty feet tall.”

  “Yeah,” said an equally awed Mags. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this. This is… this is awesome. We are made, guys – fucking made.”

  Envy twinged Paul's gut. Not for the first time did he wish he'd insisted on going on the first dive, but he knew Piers and Mags had more experience than him and worked together in perfect harmony. It was as if they could pre-empt what the other was thinking, a precious gift in a new and potentially dangerous environment. Still, it didn't stop Paul from being a little jealous and wishing he was there to share their obvious awe first hand.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “We’re going down, filming the exterior… This isn’t set into a hollow. I think… I think it sunk into some kind of crack in the earth. It seems to be sitting on a ledge set inside it. The crack itself just keeps going down. I don’t even know if we can reach the bottom.”

  “What do you mean, if you can reach the bottom?” Paul asked. Their equipment was good for up to 500 metres, way more than they should require.

  “Hey, Mags, you see that?” Piers said.

  “Yeah. Windows. Broken ones. Must’ve happened when they flooded the place – No, Piers – what are you up to? No going in there Piers… No! No going in there!”

  “Piers – she’s right,” Paul broke in. A cold bloom of dread shoved aside any lingering envy and clawed at his chest. “Stay out of the church.”

  “Aww – just a little peek? Not to go in, just stick my head in, have a look around…”

  “Piers,” Paul said, his tone low and forbidding. “We agreed.”

  “Yeah, but you're not down here. Believe me, we need this footage. The audience is going to shit itself when it sees this. So will you when you see the footage. I promise. And I promise I won’t go in… Just let me poke my head in.”

  “No,” said Paul. “Stay out. Don’t go near it. External footage only. You don’t know what’s in there.”

  Piers snorted in derision. “What, like some kind of lake monster? Come on, man. Mags is with me. She’ll stop me doing anything stupid.”

  Paul sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Truth was, he was dying to see what that church looked like, and actually appreciated the fact that Piers was asking him. Once upon a time, he would have just done what he damned well pleased and hang the consequences.

  “Okay. Poke your head in. But just your head. You don’t go in. Get some interior footage and then surface. I think we’ve got enough to play with this morning. And Mags?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make sure he does as he is told.”

  Paul heard the grin in her voice. “Sure, boss.”

  Both divers fell silent, apart from the eerie, almost mechanical suck and blow of their breathing, which got noticeably faster as they approached the broken window, or so he assumed.

  “Piers… Mags… speak to me…”

  Neither replied. The cold feeling sank into Paul’s belly and began twisting his guts around.

  “Piers. Mags. Report. What is going on?”

  “Jesus,” Piers whispered.

  “Jesus what?” Paul asked.

  “You will not believe what is in here. It’s… it’s huge. A huge room. And… I dunno. An altar? In the middle. But there’s something on it… Something moving…”

  “Piers?” It was Mags, sounding conce
rned.

  “Just a few more seconds – I need to make sure I catch this…”

  “No – Piers… Behind us. Look. What the fuck is that?”

  Paul’s heart jump started. “What is it? Mags? Are you okay?”

  “Holy shit!” Mags exclaimed, and if she said anything else, it was obscured by a violent screech of feedback.

  The line went dead.

  “Piers! Mags! Answer me!” Paul yelled. He twisted the little knobs that controlled the feed, desperately seeking another frequency, but it was no good. Out of sheer desperation, he raised the probe and dropped it over the other side of the boat, looking for that elusive sweet-spot, but still there was nothing. His heart crashed around his rib cage, making him feel weak and shaky. What had happened? Had they moved too quickly? Or was it simply atmospherics? If it hadn't have been for Mags' last exclamation, he might have been able to convince himself, but now his imagination ran rampant. He spared the shore a glance; standing there were two figures, waiting for them to return, happy in their obliviousness. He now selfishly wished he had insisted Decker do this, like he usually did, because Decker would know what to do, he would know what to press-

  Another blast of feedback heralded the return of the radio connection.

  “…aul? Paul? Are you there?”

  It was Mags.

  “Fuck! Yes! Mags – are you two okay? What happened down there?” The joy of sudden relief made him want to laugh.

  “I don’t know… there was a … a… shadow. I can’t describe it any other way. Maybe a big cloud passed overhead and it freaked me out.” She sounded sheepish. “Sorry.”

  “No – don’t apologise. I’m just thankful you’re okay. Is Piers with you?”

  “Yeah, boss, I’m here. We’re making our way back up now. Be with you in five.”

  A tense few moments passed before tell-tale bubbles broke the surface. Piers grabbed the dinghy's gunwale and dragged himself and out of the water and pulled his mask off whilst Mags prepared to join them.

  “Fuck, yeah!” Piers said, grinning. “You have got to see this… seriously, it kicks ten shades of shit out of anything else we’ve ever filmed!” His enthusiasm was dampened by a sharp intake of breath behind him. “Hey… you okay Mags?”

  Paul frowned and leaned over to her side of the boat. She was no longer trying to pull herself out of the water, but was instead holding on to the gunwale with one hand, her face contorted in pain. Piers' grin disappeared, and both men grabbed her arm and hauled her into the dinghy.

  “What's wrong?” Paul asked. Mags just shook her head and grimaced whilst Piers hunkered down beside her leg. He let out a pained hiss.

  “Paul, you’d better get the first aid kit out,” Piers said. “What happened, Mags?”

  “I don't know,” she said. “I think something bit me.”

  “Something… bit you?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what it was, but it got me good. Hurts like a bitch.”

  “I can imagine. It's gone right through you suit,” Piers said. He pulled off her boot and began rolling the leg of her wet suit up as gently as he could, but that didn't stop Mags from wincing and biting back a yelp of pain. Blood and water trickled down her leg and pooled in the bottom of the dinghy, staining it red.

  “What the hell… what could do that?” Piers breathed.

  Paul shook his head. Just above her ankle was a perfect circle of needle-like puncture marks, about an inch and half across. Each little wound welled blood every time Mags moved.

  “It hurts,” Mags said. “Like it’s burning.”

  “Well, whatever it is, we’ll need to sterilise it,” said Paul. He peered at the wound. “It doesn’t actually look that deep, but we’ll get it cleaned up and dressed properly when we get to shore.”

  Piers hauled in the probe and Paul whipped the motor on. All the time, Mags face went through every pained contortion it could as the dinghy skipped over the surface of the loch and back to shore. As soon as he cut the engine, Piers jumped out and guided them to solid ground, shouting for a first aid kit. Together, they manhandled Mags out of the boat. Yolanda rushed forwards with the kit and Paul told her to prepare sterile cleaning pads and some distilled water, which she did without question. He tried to ignore the fact that Decker did nothing and focused entirely on Mags.

  “You’re up to date with your shots?”

  “’Course I am,” Mags said through gritted teeth. “Holy crap! That hurts. Why does it hurt this much? Shouldn’t do… I’ve taken sea urchin spines to the foot, for chrissakes.” She tried to grin, but it looked more like a grimace. “Must be getting weak in my old age.”

  Finally, the blood stopped beading and Paul felt confident in dressing the wound properly. At first, he and Yolanda tried to help Mags out of her suit, but pulling it down over the bite proved too painful so he let her keep it on as he wound the bandage around her calf. He looked back at Decker and scowled; he was sitting back, fiddling with his laptop, all but ignoring them. What was wrong with him lately? Okay, so he had some issues with this place to work through, but ignoring a friend in need – an injured one at that – really stretched the limits of his sympathy.

  “What’s up with him?” Mags murmured.

  “Oh, nothing a good slap upside his head couldn’t cure,” Paul replied. Mags laughed, which made Paul feel better. If she could laugh, then everything would be okay.

  He finished dressing the wound and helped Piers lug her tanks back to their makeshift station whilst Yolanda offered her arm as a crutch. Mags smiled, but declined the offer, and instead hobbled back up herself. Decker barely raised his eyes from his screen as they approached and Paul had to stop himself from slamming the equipment down in front of him out of sheer annoyance.

  “You got the footage?” Decker asked. Piers shot him a look.

  “Yeah – good stuff, or at least I hope so.” Piers unhooked the little camera clipped to the side of his mask and handed it to Decker, whilst Paul did the same for Mags. Decker didn’t say anything else, just plugged it into his laptop.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything to Mags?” Paul asked.

  “Mags?”

  “She got bitten!” Paul fought down the urge to wrench the laptop from under Decker’s fingers.

  “Oh,” said Decker.

  “Oh? Is that all you're going to say?”

  “It’s all right, Paul… just leave it,” Mags said. “It’ll be fine. Feeling better already, actually. Let me rest it for a while and I’ll be back underwater in no time.”

  Ever the optimist, Paul thought. Even though he was annoyed – no, make that bloody furious – with Decker, he couldn’t help the warmth he felt for Mags bleeding through. She was one of the good ones, and no mistake.

  “Okay – here we go,” said Decker. He had the courtesy to offer Mags his seat, at least. They all crowded round the monitor as the slightly grainy footage flickered to life. At first it was like any other dive footage they’d shot – a wide expanse of greenish grey water, occasionally bordered by various water plants, which gradually darkened as they went deeper. So far, so normal.

  That all changed when the church loomed out of the murk.

  At first, no one spoke. No one breathed until Yolanda let out a low whistle.

  “Wow, that has to be the creepiest thing I have ever seen.”

  Piers nudged Paul’s back. “Told you, buddy. People are going to go nuts when they see this.”

  Neither age nor water had done anything to dull St Machan's majesty. Its Gothic carvings were still intact, if a little green from the algae that clung to them, and its unbroken spire swept upwards to pierce the surface that twinkled so far above them. Huge stained glass windows, miraculously still largely intact, were dark holes in the side of the buildings, their colours muted and turned shadowy by the depths. As Piers swam closer, the pitted surface of the limestone used to build this place betrayed its age. To Paul, the church wouldn’t have looked out of place in Medieval saga, and wonde
red why such a magnificent structure had been allowed to be drowned. It seemed almost sacrilegious to him.

  They watched in silence as Piers' camera swept back and forth, drinking in its silent grandeur. Occasionally the light would catch one of the windows and make it sparkle. You didn’t need any form of lake monster down here to start a legend – the whole place was a legend. Just some commentary over the top and they were sorted.

  “Whoa – what was that?” Yolanda pointed at the screen. Decker paused the footage and rewound a little, and all five of them craned forwards.

  “There, there!” Yolanda exclaimed. “Just like Malcolm Allen said! Did you see it?”

  Paul and Piers shared a look. It was good to see her finally getting in on the act, even if she was just misinterpreting shadows.

  “Just something passing overhead,” Decker said. He sounded bored, which only heightened Paul's annoyance with him. “See? Mags just swam into view. It would’ve been her shadow. Nothing else.”

  “Still, we might be able to use that as a probable hint at something being down there,” Paul said, more to mollify Yolanda than anything else.

  “You mean, lie?” Decker said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Gee, like we’ve never done that before…”

  “Hey man, what has gotten in to you?” Piers said. “Ever since we got here, you haven’t done anything but mope around-”

  Decker snorted and stood up. He looked like he might say something, but instead shook his head and stalked off.

  “What the fuck?” Piers asked.

  “I don't know. Just leave it. Let me speak to him.”

  “And the footage?”

  “It can wait for a moment. Give me five, okay?”

  The others didn’t look happy about it, but that didn’t bother Paul much. What did bother him was Decker. They’d been together long enough for him to know something wasn’t so much bothering him as eating him alive. He jogged after him, only to find him crouching at the base of a fir tree a few hundred yards away, his face in his hands. Was he... crying? The anger he had been nurturing since they'd come off the boat melted away, replaced by worry.