A Darker Shade of Grey
Page 4
Jace’s eyes flew open. How long had he been out? More importantly, where had he been out? How was it possible? He hauled vertical, disembodied grunts accompanying the effort. Every bone ached, muscles complaining, but it didn’t appear he’d broken anything. Jagged rocks added abrasions to bruises. He tried to gauge the damage to his hands in the murk and winced on uncurling tight fists. His palms were sticky with blood.
Evening had set in, many hours elapsed. Surely they’d come looking for him soon? Reagan and Reece were as sharp as circles, but they needed every able-bodied worker. Jace’s physical strength proved an exploitable commodity. It usually meant he was treated little better than a serf, but it might earn him rescue. He collected the gear, groping the bag for a torch to flick it on. The beam barely penetrated mist that writhed and swirled as if alive. Goosebumps trickled his spine, heart jumping erratically. He caught the rapid patter of feet.
“Who’s there?”
He waited, refusing to let panic win. Nothing. Jace swayed, consciousness blurred. In any case, accurate navigation in the horrid white-out was beyond the achievable. He pointed the flashlight at his boots, illuminating a ring of scree, and carefully took a step.
One agonisingly slow tread at a time, Jace proceeded up the sliding gravel slope, sometimes on all fours with the torch in his mouth. Hanging vines proved treacherous, giving way on the slightest tug. He ignored pain and rising desperation. The backpack hindered progress, but dumping expensive tools was not an option. The sound of running feet came again, rustling closer through the undergrowth then darting away. He thought he heard music. Maybe he was in shock.
“Guys, I’m hurt. This isn’t funny!”
Jace finally breached the rise, panting and sweating despite the chilled night air. Using the handle of the axe he gingerly prodded his way forward through waist-high grass, not caring which direction, so long as it was opposite to eerie Grey Manor. He decided he hated this place, the town and everyone in it; one week’s pay was an easy sacrifice for less hassle. He was gone in the morning. If the twins hadn’t learned a lesson from their stint in jail, who was he to teach them otherwise?
It came again. A swish of motion like wind bending stalks to his epicentre accompanied by the mournful lilt of bowed strings. He wheeled about, cursing the fog and an inadequate flashlight. The darkness here weighed heavier than the bottom of the ocean where predators emerged too quick from the chasm. Jace took a hesitant step.
“Angus! You bastard. Show yourself!” A shattering otherworldly scream turned his flesh to ice. “Angus?” he yelled, doubtful his senses were trustworthy.
Another shriek split the night, so laden with despair and agony it shredded qualms. His mind could never manufacture such a sound. Jace burst into a sprint, tripping and stumbling, bag thudding his injured back with every stride. He had no instinct for direction, the haze disorienting in the extreme. As if in response to the thought, the curtain separated. A vista of star-spangled blackness and overgrown field stretched to the granite staircase of Lady Grey’s derelict house. He should have known: every path lead here.
It crouched in the gloom exuding malice with vacant windows for eyes, shutters broken and chipped, mouth an abyss where double-doors gaped. He delayed in the middle of what was once well-clipped lawn, fear gripping his bowels. A final cry stabbed the dark, fading to a thin, wet burble.
“Angus!”
A tunnel wormed its way ahead and if Jace wanted to save his friend, he had no choice but to follow. Laini’s message scorched awareness, “Don’t go inside, no matter what.” The argument raged. Angus might have fallen through rotted wood, bleeding out in a crumpled heap, while Jace gave cowardice full reign. Maybe the hesitation proved the difference between life and death.
Even as a child, he’d never believed in ghost stories. This was ludicrous! It was just a house, the former owner a mere silhouette on its walls. He hefted the axe and started to jog. A moan rippled the ground and sudden gusts whipped grass into a thrashing sea. It was like wading a bog. Angus slumped in the frame.
The boy’s stocky physique seemed less somehow, like a once plump fruit leeched of its innards til only a shrunken membrane. Yet Jace refused to consciously admit such a thing. It would send him to the asylum. Relieved, he waved and called frantically.
“I’m coming!”
Angus didn’t seem to register his saviour. There was something terribly wrong with his face. Jace battled onwards, squinting. What was wrong with Angus’ face? He wobbled and fell to his knees on the porch, fingers gouging his cheeks. Drawing determinedly closer, a foul odour met Jace’s nostrils. Wet dog and boiled pork, gone putrid in the heat. His gorge flipped and he cupped his mouth against nausea. And then he understood what he saw; Angus’ flesh hung loose, a gelatinous web of holes devoured by acid. With a sizzle, half his skull dissolved, a butcher’s knife protruding the intact orb, one eyeball hanging free on stringy residue.
It couldn’t be. Jace blinked, straining for reason. The pills had never had such a hallucinogenic impact. Angus toppled to boards with a moist slap, body yanked back within, the only sign of his presence a glistening bloody swathe through the dust. The manor doors slammed credibly, fog dispelling to unleash an ordinary sky.
Jace found himself alone and trembling in the field, bladder threatening. Awareness crystallised: Grey Manor had claimed another victim. Its secrets were better left undisturbed. And now, compensation was demanded for his intrusion. There was no going back. He felt it in his very core.
And from a window on high, came a soft cackle. Compelled to look, he knew where to find her -- the gallows from which the last Mr Grey swung. In the cloudy reflection of a rising moon, Lady Grey spread a rictus leer. Jace was paralysed by the hunger of her bone-vacant sockets, digits shrinking the distance between them like scabrous bleached spider’s legs. He hefted the axe and swung.
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Chapter Five