by Shaun Hutson
Coulson’s left leg was extended before him and Mason could see that his foot was twisted at an impossible angle but it wasn’t the broken ankle that was concerning him. It was the damage to Coulson’s skull.
Mason held the lighter higher, the sickly yellow light illuminating the full extent of the damage.
‘What are you looking at?’ Coulson slurred and, at last, Mason realised why his speech was so distorted.
There was a hole in the back of Coulson’s skull the size of a tennis ball and through it, Mason could see a greyish-red matter bulging from the hole in the other man’s skull. He realised with revulsion that it was brain. Coulson’s eyes rolled briefly upwards in the sockets and he tried to speak once more but, this time, no words, just a stream of blood poured from his mouth. Rivulets of the dark fluid were oozing from his nose too.
‘Oh Christ,’ Mason murmured, unable to keep his reaction in check.
Coulson’s head flopped backwards, his tongue lolling from his mouth.
‘Coulson,’ Mason hissed. ‘Stay awake. I’ll get out. I’ll get help.’
It was already too late.
‘Come on,’ Mason said through gritted teeth. He held up his lighter once again in an attempt to see where they were. It looked as if they’d fallen into a culvert of some kind, two of the sides were smooth, the other two were bare rock. Mason glanced upwards to the wooden slats they’d crashed through then held the lighter away from him once more.
The flame was flickering, blown by a strong breeze. Buffeted so much he feared it might go out.
‘There’s air blowing into here from somewhere,’ he mused. ‘I’m guessing from outside.’ He nodded in the direction of the breeze. ‘We should go that way. We can get out.’
Coulson looked blankly at him.
‘I’ll lift you,’ Mason said. ‘Try and get up.’ Even as he spoke he realised how ridiculous his words sounded. Coulson was hovering very close to unconsciousness and, for all the teacher knew, to death. The possibility of him standing up, let alone walking out of this subterranean labyrinth, was out of the question.
‘I’ll go on,’ Mason insisted. ‘I’ll send help. I promise.’
Coulson said nothing. His eyes were already closed.
Mason waited a moment longer, listening to the low, guttural breathing of his injured companion then he began walking.
The lighter grew hot in his hand the longer he held it and, more than once, he had to flick it off and stand still in the darkness until the metal cooled enough to allow him to use it again.
As he walked, he was becoming more and more convinced that his trek was futile. His mind was filling with one unshakeable conviction. That he would never see the surface again. That he would wander helplessly in the gloom below ground until he simply couldn’t walk any longer. Then exhaustion would overtake him and finally hunger and thirst. He would, he was convinced, die in this monstrous place.
He was still considering that appalling fate when he saw the torch beam shining in his direction.
It was fifteen or twenty yards away, bright and welcoming. A beacon in the gloom.
‘This way,’ a familiar voice boomed, echoing off the culvert walls. ‘Come on.’
Mason shuffled forward.
Richard Holmes stood in the middle of the wide culvert, waving the torch back and forth.
‘I told you I’d catch you up,’ Holmes said, conversationally. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
80
‘How the hell did you find me?’ Mason wanted to know as they struggled on.
‘That’s not important now,’ Holmes told him. ‘All that matters is that we get out. Where’s Coulson?’
‘Back there,’ Mason confessed. ‘He’s dying. He fractured his skull when we fell.’ He allowed the words to trail off.
‘We can get him help.’
Mason nodded.
‘It’s like a maze down here,’ he offered. ‘If you hadn’t found me I’d have been dead. Andrew Latham is back there too. He’s dead.’
Holmes pressed on, shining the light ahead of them along the culvert.
‘I said Latham’s dead,’ Mason repeated.
‘Let’s get you out of here first,’ Holmes insisted. ‘Tell me everything when we’ve reached the surface.’
‘What about Kate?’ Mason demanded.
Holmes didn’t speak.
‘Kate?’ Mason persisted.
‘This leads to a central hub,’ Holmes told him. ‘It’s like a sewage pipe. We can get out once we reach it. Then we can get help.’
‘We found a shoe and a piece of cloth,’ Mason informed the other teacher. ‘And there were lanterns in the tunnel above. As if someone had been down here before us. Like they were trying to leave a trail for us.’
Again Holmes remained silent.
‘Not far now,’ he said, finally, pointing to a curve in the pipe.
‘Is Kate down here?’ Mason asked, more forcefully.
‘We need to get you to a doctor,’ Holmes said. ‘Then we can call the police.’
‘Richard,’ Mason insisted. ‘Where’s Kate? If she’s down here I want to know. I want to know if she’s safe.’
‘She’s fine,’ Holmes told him.
‘You’ve seen her then?’
‘She’ll be waiting,’ Holmes assured him.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Mason challenged, gripping the older man’s arm and dragging him back.
‘Trust me,’ Holmes said, flatly.
The men moved on once more. Mason was aware of light at the far end of the culvert. Welcoming yellow light that banished the darkness the closer they got to its source.
‘Thank God,’ Mason breathed.
The light was brighter now. So bright in fact that Mason was forced to squint when he looked towards it but, as his eyes became accustomed to the fierce white luminescence he grew aware of its source.
There were dozens of torches ahead of him. Each one held by a different person.
He noticed that one was held by Nigel Grant. The headmaster was smiling happily as he played the beam over Mason and Holmes. The others were being held by members of staff, every one of them shining the bright lights at the newcomers.
Kate Wheeler held hers too.
Holmes quickened his pace and walked across to join his colleagues, turning his own torch beam on Mason.
‘What the fuck is this?’ Mason murmured.
‘A gathering, Peter,’ Holmes told him.
‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ Nigel Grant added.
‘It’s like a welcome committee,’ Kate Wheeler offered.
Mason shielded his eyes as he looked towards the teachers gathered in front of him.
‘I don’t understand,’ Mason said, warily.
‘We didn’t think that you would,’ Kate Wheeler told him.
‘It isn’t an easy thing to understand,’ Nigel Grant added.
‘And it doesn’t matter that you can’t fathom the reasons, Peter,’ Richard Holmes added. ‘Some things are better left as mysteries.’
Mason took a step backwards.
‘Tell me what’s happening,’ he called.
‘This is almost over, Peter,’ Kate Wheeler told him. ‘For us and for you. But it has to be this way.’
‘We need you,’ Nigel Grant told him.
‘For what?’ Mason gaped.
‘You’re not like us,’ Holmes offered.‘You’re an outsider. You’re different. You don’t belong here and so you’re more acceptable. More potent.’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ Mason rasped.
‘Does it really matter?’ Nigel Grant said, a note of condescension in his voice. ‘You’re here now, just as we intended.’
Mason looked even more vague.
‘You came here because we wanted you to,’ Grant continued. ‘To this school, to this town and to this place.’
‘And now to where you stand at this very moment,’ Richard Holmes added.
&nbs
p; ‘Where’s Simon Usher?’ Mason asked, his voice catching.
Kate Wheeler laughed and the sound echoed within the subterranean chamber. It was a noise as grating as fingernails on a blackboard and it caused the hairs on the back of Mason’s neck to rise. When it was joined by that of a number of others, he felt as if his ears would burst from the sound.
‘What’s going on?’ he roared.
‘I suppose it’s only fair that you know,’ Richard Holmes told him. ‘Before this is all over you’ll know everything.’
‘Tell me now,’ Mason demanded.
Kate Wheeler moved towards him and Mason, in spite of himself, went to meet her.
She was smiling as she reached for him. Mason shook his head, wondering why she was holding a hypodermic needle in one hand.
He felt a cold pinprick in his left arm as she ran it into his muscle then stepped back.
‘What’s going on?’ Mason babbled, his head spinning.
Kate stepped away from him. Still smiling.
He saw the lights of the torches moving closer as the watching teachers advanced upon him. Mason tried to move away but it was as if the darkness inside the tunnel had flooded into his brain. Everything before him blurred then disappeared.
He blacked out.
81
From the smell that clogged his nostrils and the darkness around him, Mason knew that he was still underground when he woke up.
He opened his eyes slowly, aware instantly of the pain in his head and also of something clinging to his wrists and ankles. He tried to move and realised immediately that he was bound. Exactly what he was bound to he wasn’t sure but, as he slowly raised his head he could see that he was firmly secured to a large wooden table, held captive by thick ropes around his ankles and wrists. More rope had been fastened around his chest then beneath the table to ensure there was no possibility of him freeing himself.
As his vision cleared a little more he could see that there were figures standing around him. He recognised three of them.
‘If you untie me now I’ll leave,’ Mason said, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation. ‘I’ll walk away from here. From the school, the job. Everything. I won’t tell anyone what’s happened here.’
No one spoke.
‘This is fucking ridiculous,’ Mason shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the subterranean chamber. He strained madly against the ropes for a moment but then fell back helplessly, aware that they weren’t going to budge, only too certain that he was trapped.
‘Tell me what’s happening,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘Why am I here? Why are you doing this to me?’
‘The obligatory explanation before the final resolution, ’ Richard Holmes smiled. ‘Usually so necessary in great works of fiction.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Mason sighed.
‘God has very little to do with this, Peter,’ Holmes continued. ‘Not your God.’
‘Just stop talking in fucking riddles and tell me what’s going on here,’ Mason pleaded.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ Holmes went on.‘At least in terms that you’d understand or in words that wouldn’t sound preposterous.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘It probably relies on you accepting truths that, previously, you would have dismissed as idiotic. Perhaps even lunatic.’
Mason shook his head and exhaled almost painfully.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Holmes told him. ‘We are, or we were, instrumental in bringing you to this place which will be the site of your death but we will not physically take your life ourselves. Something else will do that.’
Mason tried to swallow but his throat was as dry as chalk.
‘What do you mean?’ he croaked.
‘You will die tonight,’ Holmes told him. ‘But not at our hands. It will be something more powerful than us that ends your time here.’
‘Like what?’
‘It’s difficult to find the words to describe it, to be honest,’ Holmes offered, cheerfully.
Mason closed his eyes tightly for a second.
‘Did you kill Simon Usher too?’ he asked, quietly.
‘He came here,’ Kate Wheeler explained. ‘The same way you did. He came because he wanted to. We didn’t make him. He came looking for the treasure of Abbot Bartholomew and, in a way, he found it.’
‘It’s all a matter of free will,’ Holmes added. ‘There had to be a sacrifice.’
‘Sacrifice?’ Mason gasped.
‘I couldn’t think of a better word,’ Holmes said, almost apologetically. ‘Sacrifice. Offering. Gift, if you will. It all amounts to the same thing.You’re our gift and in return we will receive something we all need. Something we all cherish.’
‘Gift to who?’ Mason demanded. ‘Who’s going to give you what you all fucking want so badly?’
‘We don’t really have a name for it,’ Nigel Grant interjected. ‘We never have.’
‘Someone once called it a guardian,’ Kate Wheeler told him. ‘That seemed quite a good name.’
Mason shook his head again.
‘All those stories about Abbot Bartholomew and his treasure that you heard,’ Holmes cut in. ‘They were true. He and his colleagues were given a secret. A treasure. But it wasn’t the kind of treasure that can be counted. Not gold or silver. It was something more powerful than that. It was a power that could reverse what had gone before. Change things that had happened. It could heal. It could restore. It could even give life back to those who no longer had it. As long as the offering was made. Life is all about desire, whether it’s for money, fame, health or love but the need for sex is the greatest and most potent of all. The lust for lust if you like. That’s what Bartholomew and his associates knew and that’s what we’ve come to learn. The stronger the desire, the easier someone is to control.’
‘You’re fucking mad,’ Mason said, dismissively. ‘All of you.’
‘That may be but we have our beliefs and we stick to them,’ Holmes told him.
‘And what about the kids in Walston who killed themselves? ’ Mason grunted. ‘Were they offerings too?’
‘That was Latham’s doing,’ Kate Wheeler told him.‘He knew about the guardian. He knew that those with the strongest desires could be controlled most easily and he abused that knowledge. He took lives for his amusement. He didn’t give them as offerings. He manipulated those kids.Twisted their minds with their own desire until they killed themselves.’
‘So you killed Latham because he betrayed your little cult?’ Mason snapped.
‘He was an initiate who exceeded his position,’ Grant offered. ‘He had no right to do what he did. He had to be punished. The guardian punished him.’
‘There was no other way,’ Holmes insisted.‘Who knows what goes through the mind of a teenager? He wanted too much power too quickly. He couldn’t handle it. He showed no respect. So we brought him down here and he paid the price for his insolence.’
‘They say youth is wasted on the young,’ Grant chuckled. ‘So are certain kinds of knowledge.’
‘And you believe you can control this thing, whatever it is?’ Mason snorted, the bravado in his voice fading.
‘No, no one can control it.We worship it,’ Kate Wheeler added. ‘We give it what it needs so it repays us with the things we crave the most.’
‘At the beginning we thought that simply causing an affront to God was enough. Desecrating churches, killing animals and things like that. Then we came to understand it more and realised that lives were required.Animals were tried,’ Holmes added, wearily. ‘Horses, dogs, sheep, cats. But they’re not enough. They’re sufficient if one only wants to be free of a disease or an impediment but they’re not powerful enough offerings to allow the restoration of life. Only the offering of a man satisfies the cravings of the guardian fully. And once given, we are repaid.’
‘And how many people have you murdered in the name of this thing?’ Mason snapped.
‘We haven’t killed anyone,’ Holmes remind
ed him.
‘What about Usher?’ Mason demanded.
‘We offered him,’ Kate explained. ‘But he was ill. Cancer. The guardian wouldn’t accept the offering. It won’t accept anything impure. We left him down here.’
‘He died down here,’ Richard Holmes added.
