Chasm

by Stephen Laws

  “I won’t kill you outright if you try anything,” said Patrick. “But I will blow half your face off.”

  Alex willed Jay to glance at him so that he could give him some kind of sign, but Jay turned slowly to look up at Patrick; the barrel denting his flesh, his eyes riveted in hatred on the man with the gun. Patrick laughed.

  “Now it’s time to fulfill your destiny,” said Daddie-Paul Caffney, or was it the Vorla speaking this time? The woman stood before him, a dozen children holding on to her arms and hands. She smiled down at the man in the wheelchair. Caffney grinned up at her. “Do you have any last words?”

  “You sick bastard…” It was Annie, somewhere behind them. There was a grunt of effort, followed by a cry of pain. Annie had obviously been punished for speaking out.

  “No?” asked Daddie-Paul.

  The woman continued to smile.

  “Take her out on to the platform and prepare her.”

  The children led the woman carefully out on to the platform, over the abyss. Alex watched them begin unravelling the rope, watched as two children began tying the end around both feet, securing it there with heavy-duty multicoloured rubber bands of some kind. At last he knew what they were about to do. They weren’t going to haul something out of the Chasm. They were going to drop something in.

  “Ever seen a bungee jump?” laughed Patrick. Alex turned carefully to see that Jay was still glaring up at the man with the gun, that he even seemed to be pressing his face defiantly against the shotgun barrel that was jammed into his cheek. “Believe me, you’ve never seen a bungee jump like this before. More like deep-sea fishing. And you should see the way the sharks down there take the bait…”

  Alex recoiled when Jay suddenly grabbed the gun barrel and shoved it aside. Then Jay was yelling and on his feet, seizing Patrick Caffney by the throat. The next few seconds were a jumbled blur to Alex. Jay was either knocked or fell over his body in the struggle. The impact slammed him to the ground, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Then Jay was dragged away from him, and he could see blood on his forehead. His eyes were open, but they were rolling like a drunk man’s. Patrick, or one of the others, had stunned him. He lay, hands groping feebly in the air. A woman screamed as she was held back from running to assist. Juliet?

  Now, Alex! For Christ’s sake, do something NOW!

  “Bring them to the edge,” commanded Daddie-Paul Caffney.

  Hands seized Alex’s hair and his shoulder. He tried to fight back, but he had been badly winded. Was this how it would end? Were they all going to be thrown over the cliff-edge, down to the Vorla? He tried to shout for Candy, but nothing would come out as he was dragged through the mud with the others.

  And there was the woman, standing on the edge of the wooden platform with her backs to them all. Her arms had been tied to her sides. Alex couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she would be smiling. The kids carefully retreated from the platform, and she was standing there alone. There was a bizarre flash in Alex’s mind now as he was dragged to the edge. He’d seen a painting or a mural when he was a kid: Joan of Arc, at the stake. The woman at the edge of the platform looked like that now.

  “Vorla!” shouted Daddie-Paul Caffney.

  “Vor-la,” chanted the children. “Vor-la, Vor-la.”

  “Pain, death, misery,” cried the old man.

  “Pain, death, misery,” repeated the crowd.

  Alex was on the edge; whoever was holding his hair was forcing him to look down into the Chasm. Fear and horror robbed him of strength. The awesome, bottomless drop made his senses reel; the ragged cliff-face opposite swooped down in gigantic carved ridges before vanishing into utter darkness. The platform cast a shadow on the far wall, the woman’s silhouette on the edge.

  “Give…” said Daddie-Paul Caffney, and then his voice changed again, becoming the hideous thousand voices of the Vorla itself. “Give her to us!”

  Alex heard a brisk clattering of footsteps on the platform, then out of the corner of his eye saw Don-Paul striding across it. His shadow loomed behind the silhouette of the woman on the far cliff wall.

  Don-Paul shoved her hard between the shoulder blades.

  Silently, the woman fell from the platform, plummeting head first into the depths of the Chasm. Her figure remained still and composed, apparently without fear. As she dropped, the rope twisted and spiralled behind her, slithering and rattling over the edge of the platform. Alex felt as if his heart had stopped. The rope slithered on and on, looping and spiralling as the woman became smaller and smaller, falling seemingly for ever.

  The crowd of children was silent.

  Suddenly, the falling figure was enveloped in the utter darkness.

  The rope continued to twist and spiral, the slithering and rattling from the platform becoming louder and louder.

  And then the rope snapped taut with a reverberating twang. It sounded like a steel hawser snapping. The entire platform groaned and cracked. The winch at the centre point stretched and creaked; soil pattered over the edge, where the platform had been anchored. For a moment, it seemed that the entire structure would be dragged from its moorings. The tension on the rope eased. The platform creaked again as the strain was taken away. The rope tensed once more as the weight on the other end bounced up and fell, bounced and fell, the platform creaking and groaning like the timbers of an old ship at sea. Finally, it was still.

  Alex tried to look away, numb with horror. But his captors held him fast. He was made to look down into the Chasm. The ritual wasn’t over yet.

  Now there was only silence.

  Alex could feel the expectation.

  He’d had a chance to do something, to somehow take them unawares. But now that chance was gone. Both he and Jay were going to be thrown into the Chasm. They had other horrifying plans for the women.

  The rope suddenly snapped taut again with the same loud reverberation.

  The platform screeched as the rope began to vibrate.

  Something had taken the bait.

  “Vorla!” screeched Daddie-Paul, and it was impossible to tell this time whether it was his own voice or the voices of the evil and madness below.

  “Vor-la, Vor-la, Vor-la!” There was no exultation in the young crowd. They were expected to perform, and they were performing. Alex could hear the fear.

  The rope stretched and vibrated.

  The platform groaned and screeched.

  “Vorla!”

  “Vor-la, Vor-la, Vor-la!”

  Something on the platform shuddered and snapped. Wood splintered and cracked. Surely this time it would be dragged over the edge?

  From below came an echoing sound; like grumbling thunder or the eager voices of some insane and maddened crowd. Now a sound like a pistol shot; a sharp, brittle crack. The tension on the rope was gone. Down in the Chasm, it began to loop and twist as it rose rebounding from the depths.

  The rope had snapped, the bait had been taken.

  “Vorla!” yelled Daddie-Paul again.

  “Vor-la, Vor-la, Vor-la!”

  Don-Paul was back on the platform, carefully edging towards the winch. He tested each step, then began to turn the handle at the side. The rope began to wind up from the darkness, spooling on the platform at his feet.

  You had a chance to do something, Alex.

  “Pain, death, misery,” said Daddie-Paul Caffney.

  “Pain, death, misery,” repeated the children.

  Now it’s too late.

  “Vorla!” screeched the old man.

  “Vor-la, Vor-la, Vor-la!”

  Good Christ, you’ve blown it, Alex. After everything we’ve been through, you didn’t take the chance…and now it’s all over.

  “Vor-la! Vor-la!” chanted the children in fear-tainted voices. “Vor-la! Vor-la!”

  Patrick Caffney dragged Jay to the platform.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Journal of Jay O’Connor:

  A Thousand-Thousand Deaths

  It was the gun in my face that
did it.

  That and the fact that everything seemed so hopeless. When I knew what they were going to do with the woman, what the Caffneys had in mind for Juliet and the others, the anger just exploded inside me. Maybe if I could cause enough confusion it would give the others some kind of chance to act. But I’d blown it. Patrick, or maybe one of the others, brought me down, and the next few moments were blurred. I heard the kids chanting, wood groaning and splintering—and I knew that the poor mad woman had been thrown into the Chasm. Then hands were under my armpits and I was being dragged. Was this the end? They were going to chuck me over the side after her. But no. Suddenly I could see rough wooden boards beneath my feet. Somewhere I could hear Juliet shouting my name. There was real terror in her voice, and it was this that helped me to pull myself together. When my vision focused again, I could see where I’d been dragged.

  I was out on the wooden platform, over the Chasm.

  There were kids all around me. Wild, painted faces.

  “See this?” said a man’s voice below me.

  Don-Paul was kneeling at my feet, leering up at me. He was holding the frayed end of the rope up to my face. “It took the rubber grip and the brace and everything this time. Just snapped the rope altogether.” He looked wild with joy, eyes glittering. Feverishly, he began to wind the rope around my lower legs.

  “Never know, Jay. You might get lucky. Without the support and the brace, the drop might just pull your legs off. Then it’ll be all over really quickly.”

  “Jay!” screamed Juliet from the cliff-edge.

  Henry had her by the hair. Grinning, he made her kneel and looked straight out at me. He began thrusting his pelvis at her face, watching for my reaction.

  I don’t know how or why it happened. But that’s when everything came together in my head. Everything that had been bugging me about Daddie-Paul Caffney and the constant struggle that he was having with the Vorla. It had become worse on our journey here, Daddie-Paul and the Vorla coming and going inside his body. It was so bloody obvious, but perhaps the fear and the horror had been clouding my mind. I saw the community centre that had exploded into flame that night, remembered the screaming and knew that it had been the screaming of the Vorla, not the people inside. I saw the Black Stuff exploding out of the dead every time fire came near; saw the black sea of it rippling back from the light cast by our bonfire. The Vorla was Darkness, and it hated the Light. But more than that, much more than that—it hated fire. Before I knew what I was going to say, it was somehow out of my mouth.

  “The Vorla is afraid, Daddie-Paul.”

  “You’re going to die a thousand-thousand agonising deaths down there,” said the old man.

  “The Vorla is terrified.” I raised my voice, turning to look at the kids who were crowding at the edge. “Terrified of what we know. Terrified of us.”

  “Shall I do it now?” asked Don-Paul. He was holding my legs while the kids started back across the platform to the edge. I could feel him trembling with excitement.

  “Listen to me, kids!” I shouted. “See that petrol plant back there? Ask yourself why Daddie-Paul didn’t stay to watch the burning. It’s because the Vorla inside him is terrified of the place. It doesn’t want him to be here, doesn’t want you to be here! Don’t listen to what you’ve been told.”

  Someone was fumbling at my back, perhaps tightening the rope that bound my hands there.

  “The Vorla is all-powerful!” shouted Old Man Caffney. “Pain, death…”

  “The Vorla isn’t all-powerful!” I yelled. “It can be destroyed! Caffney brings you all here because he knows that the Vorla is afraid of this place! It’s in him, fighting for control. But he doesn’t want it to take control. He wants to stay in charge. That’s why he brings it—and you—here. Because he wants to terrify it. Show it who’s boss. You can feel it now, can’t you, old man? You can feel it squirming inside. You can feel its fear. It hates the light, and it hates fire! You kids—don’t listen to what these mad bastards say. Fire destroys the Vorla. And who knows how safe those canisters over there are? Haven’t you all noticed that Daddie-Paul is never around when there’s fire? It’s because the Vorla inside him can’t stand it. Isn’t that right? Well, isn’t it?”

  “Pain, death, misery!” yelled the old man. At his urging, the two girls pushed the wheelchair right up to the edge so that he could have a clear view of me.

  “Pain,” began the crowd. “Death!”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way. The Vorla hates us because we rejected it. Hates us and fears us. You can reject it too…”

  My hands were loose.

  Someone was stuffing something into the back of my belt.

  “You talk too fucking much,” said Don-Paul, rising. He planted a hand squarely on my chest.

  “FEED HIM TO US!” screamed the thousand voices of the Vorla from Daddie-Paul’s mouth.

  And then Alex lunged forward and hit the wheelchair hard. Grabbing one armrest with both hands, he heaved it over. The girls shrieked and fell back as Daddie-Paul clawed for balance. Alex sprawled over the wheelchair, Daddie-Paul fell out of it, arms clawing and pin-wheeling…and over the edge of the cliff.

  Suddenly, everyone was screaming.

  I caught Don-Paul’s wrist, saw the look of paralysed horror on his face as he realised what had happened to his father. One of the girls cried “Daddieee-Paul!” as the twisting figure dropped screaming from sight.

  And when I sidestepped to look at who was behind me, the face of the child I saw there paralysed me. He had cut me free, had shoved something into my belt. And even though his face was painted with the same wild streaks as those of the other kids in this tribe, there was no mistaking him.

  It was the Crying Kid.

  The kid I’d found in the school ruins. The kid that Damon and Wayne had chased away by throwing rocks at him. The face that had somehow haunted me ever since this nightmare started.

  He stared up at me with this stark look of hope.

  I fumbled for what he’d thrust into my belt.

  The shotgun discharged like a roar of thunder, and the kids were running every which way.

  Then Don-Paul snapped free of my grasp—and shoved me hard.

  I think I heard Juliet scream my name again, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Maybe it was me screaming.

  Because the next instant I fell from the platform, dropping like a stone.

  I saw the platform flying away from me, felt wind rushing all around me. I saw the rope coiling and twisting madly as I fell, saw the Crying Kid standing there frozen in horror; getting smaller…smaller…smaller…

  I knew that there were a thousand-thousand deaths waiting for me.

  Then the Darkness took me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stand-Off

  Everyone reacted in shock to Alex’s sudden move.

  Ever since they’d been “judged” back at the town hall, it seemed that the Caffneys had beaten out of him any fight that he had left. But this sudden, violent lunge at Daddie-Paul momentarily paralysed everyone on the cliff-edge, captor and captive alike. The wheelchair tipped awkwardly, Alex fell over it, and the next moment Old Man Caffney had gone over the edge. That was when his daughters started to scream and the kids followed suit in blind panic, yelling and running in all directions.

  And Henry Caffney let go of Juliet’s hair, forgetting that she was there. He stood rooted to the spot, like a statue. He seemed hypnotised by the slowly spinning wheel of the wheelchair as Alex clambered back to his feet. Daddie-Paul’s dwindling scream was drowned in the shouts of the running crowd. Juliet lunged past him and fought her way through the milling children to get to the platform. Something was happening there. Somehow, Jay’s hands were free and he was struggling with Don-Paul right on the edge.

  And then Lisa lunged forward to seize Patrick Caffney’s hair from behind, yanking down with all her strength. His head snapped back, his face contorted in agony. Annie seized the shotgun with both hands and
tried to wrest it from his grip. But even though Lisa managed to drag him to his knees, he still fought to hold on with one hand while he clutched at his scalp with the other lest Lisa rip it from his skull. Simon Caffney burst through the crowd of kids, running to reach them. From nowhere, Candy lunged out of the crowd and tried to claw at his face. She caught his sleeve as he ran and he dragged her down in his headlong flight. She clung on tight, tearing his shirt. Yelling, Simon turned and kicked her hard. Candy’s grip was broken as Simon seized her own hair, ready to smash her face to pulp with his fists.

  Roaring like a bull, Alex leapt over the overturned wheelchair. Eyes wild, fuelled by hatred, he bore down on Simon, who heard and saw him coming. He pulled free from Candy and braced himself, swatting a little girl out of his way as she ran into him, screaming.

  “They killed our Daddie!” screeched Luanne, hugging her pregnant torso as if even the baby inside were screaming in distress. “They killed our Daddieee!” She tottered towards Henry, looking for protection. Henry still couldn’t move; still couldn’t take his eyes from the overturned wheelchair and its slowly spinning wheel.

  Annie wrenched the shotgun free and it discharged with a shocking roar.

  Luanne’s face disintegrated in a bloody spray.

  Now the children were running screaming from the cliff-edge, back the way they’d come.

  Luanne tottered forward, three more steps towards Henry. Then her body crumpled to its knees. Still hugging her torso, she sprawled forward into the mud.

  Henry sagged and went down on his own knees, now no longer staring at the wheelchair; all his attention centred on his sister’s body.