CHAPTER TEN
The Cadaverous Crypt
Rachel’s sandwiches were less than a stone’s throw away, but as she entered the tunnel, she met nothing but gloom and the smell of decay.
The entrenched darkness enveloped her, and she hit the ground with little grace. Winded and out of breath, she checked herself for injuries, but none of her body parts seemed to be broken, sprained or otherwise missing, so she got back onto her feet and squinted into the darkness.
With baby steps, she slowly turned around, hoping to see the tunnel’s entrance, but no sliver of light cut through the ingrained blackness, so she had little choice but to follow the churning water.
Moving at a snail’s pace, she kept the fast-running stream to her left.
Bumping her head on stalactites and tripping over stalagmites, she fumbled her way further into the darkness. Pins and needles numbed her outstretched fingers, and she wondered how long she could keep this up when, for the umpteenth time that day, the sense of foreboding flooded her senses. The sheer agony of not knowing what or where the danger would come from struck her down with dread –
The shuffling of feet took her by surprise. ‘Ah, I see our prey took the bait,’ muttered a man’s cold monotone voice. ‘Pity – I was hoping for more sport – maybe next time, eh?’
‘W-who's there?’ Rachel called out.
‘Forgive my manners – here – let me give you some light.’
PLOP!
Rachel froze. Another plopping noise reached her ears, and a sardonic chuckle echoed off the cavern walls followed by a distant droning noise that grew louder and drew nearer. The instant rush of wind caught her by surprise, and then an unnerving buzzing flew overhead.
Moments later, a piercing pinpoint of blue light bedazzled her.
The cavern lost its murky façade, and she looked on in amazement at the flight of dazzling dragonflies that feasted on Lydia’s sandwiches. The dragonflies’ rapacious appetites intensified, and their elongated bodies exploded with wondrous colours so bright, they pervaded the cavern’s deepest nooks and crannies, smothering the shadows with majestic light.
‘Pretty – aren’t they,’ the man said in the same monotone voice, but it was a statement of fact – not a question. ‘It’s been quite a while since I’ve tasted Lydia’s homemade jam – but she hasn’t lost her touch,’ he added gleefully, then proceeded to suck his sticky fingers clean.
Rachel didn’t hesitate for a second and turned to flee –
Someone grabbed her arms and forced them behind her back. Finding her courage, she fought the assailant with all the strength she could muster, but their strong pincer fingers kept her rooted to the spot.
‘Careful now – we don’t want to damage the merchandise,’ said the man, but by his curt and brutish tone, she felt he didn’t mean it at all.
‘If you keep quiet and do as you’re told – you won’t get hurt,’ hissed a young boy’s voice, his veiled threat backed up by his icy-cold demeanour.
Rachel’s nostrils wrinkled, and she stifled a sneeze. His dire warning came with ambrosia breath: it was if he’d just eaten a bouquet of flowers.
‘Wise words indeed,’ the man announced, ‘but don’t make promises I can’t keep,’ he added sneeringly and stepped into the dragonfly light.
Rachel glared daggers at the man who had decided to show himself.
The man wasn’t what she expected at all. Even in the ebbing light, his suave features showed off his chiselled face, but his unkempt pitch-black beard made him look a lot older than his years. His long mane of black hair fell down to his broad shoulders. His grey tweed suit, however, had seen better days – and even its rumples looked rumpled. The man’s outward appearance gave the impression he had been sleeping rough.
‘I’m with friends – they’ll be looking for me,’ said Rachel hesitantly.
The man chuckled derisively and made himself comfortable on top of a stone coffin. He removed his trilby hat and placed it beside him, and with a deepening exhale, he drawled, ‘Lying will do you no good, Miss Cook.’
For a fleeting moment, she held the notion the man sitting in front of her had tried to help her in the poison pool (but if she was completely honest with herself, she had a nasty feeling he wouldn’t help his own grandmother across the road).
Quickly gathering her composure, she thought hard and wondered – for some unfathomable reason – why the man and boy from Growler’s hot dog van had followed her here.
‘What do you want from me?’ she spat, her anger masking her fear.
‘All in good time, Rachel – all in good time,’ he told her mockingly, beckoning her to come closer, but she scowled back at him and stood her ground. ‘People come, and people go – but family are forever,’ he added musingly and smiled as he patted the dusty coffin affectionately. ‘Now then, take my Great Uncle Brutus here. Spilt the blood of his soldiers and even the blood of his own sons in battle. A decorated war hero, Brutus, wasn’t the one to spare the rod and spoil the child – and yet he lays in the crypt of our hallowed church. Even in death, our Lady Madeline took pity on him and mercifully forgave him his cruelties.’
The man gave her a smirking stare and snapped his fingers.
Rachel let out a cry of surprise: a knobbly knee had pressed hard into her back, and she fell to the ground. Her knees stung from the impact, but her shoulders and arms felt instant discomfort; her backpack swung in front of her eyes – wrenched from her by her sweet-smelling captor, a boy, who appeared at least five years older than her.
The boy stepped towards the man and said, ‘Your prize, Father.’
The man’s eyes blazed as he reached out and took the backpack from his son. ‘Now, Rachel – I do hope for your sake that the item we wish to acquire is still here –’ he began, but he suddenly let out a maniacal laugh. ‘Well then, I do believe we’ve struck gold this time,’ he added grinningly, letting out a low whistle as he flipped open the plush velvet case.
Rachel’s heart sank: her mother’s ring twinkled in the lurid light.
‘Now, this is worth a king’s ransom,’ the man said jubilantly. ‘The beautiful handiwork is unmistakable. Irene Cutler is the finest jeweller in the land, and it would be a sin if her jewellery fell into the wrong –’
‘– YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A NASTY COMMON CROOK!' roared Rachel fearlessly, struggling desperately against the boy’s indomitable clutches.
In a flash, the man’s face filled with unadulterated rage, and he shot to his feet, knocking over her backpack as he stormed towards her.
Rachel kept her nerve and stayed down on her knees.
‘Father, she doesn’t understand – she’s not like us!’ yelled the boy.
The heat of the moment ended as quickly as it had begun.
The man sniffed, and his anger drained from his face. He stared over his son’s shoulder and down at her. His brow furrowed as deep as a gorge as he studied her defiant expression. ‘I have misjudged you, Rachel,’ he said solemnly, a curious glint in his eye as he sniffed the air once more, ‘as you have probably misjudged me,’ he added wearily, almost stumbling as he approached his ancestor’s coffin.
‘Father – is anything wrong?’ the boy asked, his concern apparent.
‘Rachel’s no threat to us,’ he replied croakily, his sweaty ashen face filled with sadness as he turned to look at his son. ‘She’s family –’
The dragonfly light blinked; a shadow came into being, dragging the man down and away from the coffin. The boy rushed towards his father, but the breathless shadow bellowed, ‘STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE.’
Rachel couldn’t believe her own eyes and a lump stuck in her throat; she tempered her emotions as George stood before her, his paring knife glinting against the man’s pallid throat.
‘RACHEL – ARE YOU HURT?’ asked George heatedly.
‘I-I’m fine,’ she replied graciously. ‘They didn’t hurt me.’
‘Let my father go – and you won’t get hurt,’ seethed the boy, his intimidating threat laced with ill intent.
‘I don’t take orders from the likes of you,’ spat George. ‘You’re either very brave or very foolish coming back into town,’ he added scornfully. ‘Now, I think it’s about time you two made your way back to your master unless you want the wrath of Henry’s riding crop across your face –’
The man let out a deep groan. His slick hair stuck to his forehead and perspiration trickled down his thick bushy sideburns. Rachel stared at the man’s greying face, and he seemed to age in front of her. Maybe the fading light had tricked her into thinking he’d grown older, but she had to face facts, the man wasn’t a threat to anyone, anymore.
‘George, there’s something wrong with him,’ Rachel squeaked.
‘It’s just a ploy,’ snarled George. ‘I’m nobody’s fool –’
The man collapsed to the floor with a sickening thud. The boy rushed to his father’s side and fell to his knees. George stepped away from them, still brandishing his blade threateningly.
‘Can’t you see he’s ill?’ the boy snapped. ‘If he dies because of you – it will be on your head, boy,’ he added and unbuttoned his father’s shirt.
Rachel rushed towards them. ‘What’s wrong with your father?’ she asked the boy, feeling no ill will towards the pair of them.
‘It’s an injury above his heart – it almost cost him his life,’ he replied darkly. ‘The doctor warned him about the long journey, and my mother and sister begged us to stay, but we had no other choice – we had to try.’
The man’s eyes opened, and his eyelids fluttered as he came to his senses. ‘But after all this time we found it,’ he muttered. ‘Rachel has the elixir – I can smell its sweet aroma – we still have a chance to find him…’
‘Father – thank God!’ the boy cried, brushing the damp hair out of his father’s torturous eyes. ‘Now hold still – I need to check on your injury.’
‘What happened to you?’ Rachel asked the man.
‘I-I paid the p-price for being f-foolhardy and rash,’ he spluttered with deep regret, his reply laden with sadness. ‘To my shame, I forgot my family’s motto – Dolus intortis ac Gallantry in proelio.’
George choked and edged closer. ‘Guile and Gallantry into Battle,’ he trembled and gave the man a look of adulation and pride as he knelt down. ‘My brother and I awoke to that motto every morning – and every time we went to bed. I’ve never known my father to be foolhardy or rash.’
The man fought back his grief-ridden tears as he grabbed George’s filthy hands and said, ‘Is that really you, George – behind all that dirt?’
‘And is that really you father behind that grizzled beard?’ he squeaked as he squeezed his father’s trembling hands.
The boy, however, just glared at George suspiciously. ‘How can you be my father’s son – my younger brother?’ he protested passionately.
George’s face fell, and he looked ashamed as he stared back at the boy and said miserably, ‘Madeline’s affliction still ails me, Finn.’
Finn’s face mellowed at once. His anger towards George vanished in an instant as he tried to comprehend his brother’s words.
‘Your mother and sister were heartbroken when you were taken,’ George’s father told him. ‘Violet wanted to come with us, but the journey has taken us far from our lands – and it’s been fraught with danger.’
‘Are mother and Violet all right?’ George asked.
Finn’s face brightened. ‘Your mother is well and Violet’s now taller than you, George,’ he smirked.
George peered into Finn’s iridescent green eyes. ‘I see you’re not so wet between the ears anymore, brother,’ he said with a tinge of sadness. ‘Time’s held me prisoner here for so long – but not for you, Finn. I still remember you playing truant from classes, so you could hone your swordsmanship with General Blight,’ he added with a sly smile.
Finn chuckled. He grabbed hold of George’s neck and pulled him so close their skulls cracked. ‘We’ve been searching for you for so long, George…’ Finn began, but as he laid his hands on his brother’s shoulders, his face filled with hope and longing. ‘We’ve come to take you back home – and no affliction is going to stop us.’
George gave Rachel a look of regret. ‘How can I?’ he replied. ‘I’ve probably infected Rachel already. I can’t risk infecting anyone else.’
‘Our new physician knows a lot about the condition,’ said Finn. ‘He’s made progress with the other children – and he’s close in finding a cure.’
Rachel’s stomach tightened: she didn’t like the sound of the disease at all. Why hadn’t she heard of Madeline’s affliction before?
The man groaned, and his face scrunched up in pain. Thick beads of sweat leaked through the front of his open shirt. His chest shimmered and blistered; minuscule forks of blue lightning danced back and forth across his terrible wound that raged beneath his leathery pulsating skin.
‘N-not a pretty sight for a y-young girl, eh?’ he stuttered.
‘Your heart is on fire,’ Rachel hissed.
‘Who did this to you, Father?’ pleaded George.
‘The Beasts of Bogtide,’ Finn interjected with snarling resentment.
George appeared thoroughly confused. ‘But – but those beasts are just a myth to scare children,’ he argued. ‘Mother used to read those old fairy stories to us at bedtime – and that story gave us nightmares.’
‘Mythical beasts don’t slay armies,’ rebuked Finn darkly.
Their father coughed for quiet. ‘If an army couldn’t stand against the beasts, then maybe one man could get close enough to kill them,’ he added, shooting his sons a deep look of remorse. ‘I tracked the beasts down to their icy lair and found the children’s bones buried deep beneath the castle keep. I knew I had found my quarry and what must be done.
Even at the height of the snowstorm, I could hear the beasts’ restless slumber, but as I raised my sword to kill the oldest of them, our eyes met, and I hesitated, bringing the beast’s deadliest horn down on me.’
‘You wounded it,’ Finn hissed. ‘You achieved what no army could.’
‘I was foolish to think I could defeat such a creature,’ the man replied.
‘But the beasts went to ground,’ said Finn. ‘The killings stopped.’
Their father’s face fell into despair. ‘So much has happened since you’ve been away,’ he told George. ‘We’ve left General Blight back home manning the castle, but his men grow weary, and fear seeps into their hearts and of those who dare to step into the night. W-we must – we must leave n-now –’ he added and slunk forward with a deep groan.
Rachel immediately comforted the man and placed his head in her lap; his pasty face glistened with sweat as he fought to stay conscious.
‘The elixir, F-Finn – go and g-get the e-elixir,’ he added drowsily, his breathing heavy and hoarse. ‘I can feel my mind slipping away…’
Rachel stifled a scream, and George went as white as a sheet as his father’s body began to crystallise – almost fading out of existence.
‘Hold on father – just hold on,’ said Finn and scrambled over the rocks.
‘Look after father,’ George asked Rachel and bolted after him.
The man drew Rachel close. His gelid breath smelled of roses as he whispered in her ear, ‘Promise me… p-promise me you’ll look after George, Rachel. He’ll b-be s-safer in your lands with our family to p-protect him.’
‘But George hasn’t seen you in five years,’ Rachel squeaked.
‘S-speak to your mother and r-remind her of our b-blood oath – s-she’ll understand,’ the man begged and stared down at his jacket. ‘Reach into my left pocket, Rachel – quickly now, we don’t have much time.’
Rummaging inside his pocket, she pulled out a wax paper parchment bound tightly with double-knotted strings of reed. Her eyes widened in awe as she stared at the horn-shaped object in the dwindling light.
‘Keep it safe, Rachel,’ he wheezed, ‘and when the time is right – give it to your mother and tell her Sir James Browning sends his regards.’
As she pocketed the beast’s horn, she felt the whole world falling in on top of her: her mother had a past she knew nothing about. ‘I’ll look after your son,’ she told him firmly, but her face seemed troubled as she asked, ‘You said I was family – I don’t understand.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘Even on your knees, you stood your ground. You showed me no fear – and that’s a rare gift in any of God’s creatures,’ he told her admiringly. ‘Your mother’s gift to you is bonded by blood. I had to test you, Rachel – I had t-to be s-sure you were f-family.’
Rachel grabbed his hands to comfort him in his wretched torment. ‘Is there nothing I can do to help you?’ she whispered softly.
‘Just treat George as you would a brother,’ he told her, his crystalline tears obliterating his bloodshot eyes. ‘There is strength in family,’ he added blindly and slowly wilted away into nothingness.
Unable to move, Rachel just sat there in stunned silence and shock.
The cavern coughed as if it had come down with a nasty cold. Dust and detritus rained down on the dearly departed.
‘I HAVE THE ELIXIR, FATHER – I HAVE IT –’ Finn began, but his desperate words came crashing down to earth as did the rest of him.
Reeling in agony, Finn pulled his injured leg over a coffin. He heaved himself onto its cracked lid, scattering the thick grey dust as he slowly dragged the backpack behind him.
‘Stay there, Finn – I’m coming over,’ George yelled, but the cavern shook so violently, he stumbled and fell down onto the waterlogged floor.
Still shocked by Sir James’ sudden disappearance, Rachel watched disquietingly as something golden stained the inside of her backpack.
‘Quickly, George – take it to father,’ cried Finn and threw the backpack into George’s outstretched arms, but in his weakened state it fell short – and it smashed against the rocks, then tumbled into the rising water.
The blue light came in an agonising blinding flash.
Rachel instantly felt sick to her stomach. The strong stench of honey overpowered her idle thoughts, and she fought hard to stay conscious.
The overwhelming desire to sleep sapped her strength.
Above the sounds of rock crashing against rock, she heard a baby cry and a mother’s hushing words. The dulcet tones grew clearer and nearer, and her lucid memory brought her first birthday party to the fore.
Cecil the Clown’s ruby lips stretched into a broad grin; he twisted the balloons into a squeaky pink pony, but as he handed his handiwork into her soft baby hands that happy moment vanished into the void.
Bent over double in searing agony, Rachel reeled as some unnatural force ravaged through her precious childhood memories, each one of them suffering the same cruel fate.
Outside her home in Princes Drive, her parents cheered as she rode her bike unaccompanied for the very first time. Taking a tight turn, her father took pictures as she pedalled furiously towards her grandmother.
Please don’t take that memory away from me, Rachel thought, but her grandmother vanished, and she forgot that most cherished moment.
In a fit of hurt and rage, she screamed, fighting back against the force that had wiped clean all but one of her most treasured memories.
Breathing heavily from the sheer mental exertion, she ignored the numbing water that rose well above her knees.
Throughout the cavern, patches of lichen suddenly shone like dying stars – illuminating the choppy stream that swirled around her legs.
George clung onto a high rock, calling out to Finn as he pulled himself out of the floodwater that by now had risen over most of the coffins.
Rachel tried to get his attention and called out, but she recoiled in horror as Alice Winterbright’s apparition bobbed to the surface.
Rachel scoured the water for the poisonous jellyfish, but instead, she found Jenny Marsh’s thin face sailing through the swollen waters.
Her friends’ images crept up the cavern’s wall and undulated against the ceiling like flags fluttering nervously before the coming storm.
‘C’mon, Rachel, you don’t want to be late,’ said Alice’s reflection up on high. ‘It’s not every day you’re made Prefect.’
The cavern exploded with a cacophony of screaming schoolchildren.
Rachel stood spellbound, her wide eyes fixated on the ceiling. Her classmates from Plums seeped out of the walls and began hooting and cheering as her mirror image took to the stage. Her parents clapped, but her father shot out of his chair, gave her an embarrassing loud whistle through his fingers and whopped with the rest of the crowd.
Plums’ Head Girl joined her side, and the crowd cheered even louder.
Judy Silverback gave Rachel a grin then a warm smile and shook her hand and said, ‘Make your parents proud.’
Rachel’s memory of that moment stood ageless against time, but she felt the force rear up again as it tried to relinquish that happy moment.
The lichen starlights dulled and slowly began to blackout.
One by one, her classmate’s images seeped back into the wall, their cries of jubilation echoing around the musty cavern until they fell silent. Conjuring a strength of will she never thought possible, she fought back and held on to that most treasured memory, holding onto the image of her parents and Judy, who she admired more than anyone else at Plums.
Shivering in the icy water, she fought to breathe as her mind rebelled against the dark supernatural force that wanted to leave her with nothing more than misbegotten nightmares and unforgotten dreams.
Breaking water, she gulped down the stagnant air. Devoid of so many memories, the cavern’s ceiling fell back into blackness.
To her right, a strange light rolled across the turbulent water.
Still weakened by her ordeal, she managed to distance herself from the thick bank of albinotic smog that threatened to smother the cavern.
Squinting through the gloom, she spotted George lying exhausted on a flat rock. With the smog snapping at her heels, she headed towards him not daring to look back.
‘GEORGE, OVER HERE’ she bellowed desperately.
George leapt towards her. His face looked tired and withdrawn as he pulled her up onto dry land. ‘Finn vanished before my eyes,’ he bleated.
‘Your father went the same way –’ Rachel began.
The cavern shuddered violently.
Rachel and George grabbed one another: the cavern rocked back and forth, and the ground beneath their feet suddenly dropped.
Rachel’s lightning reflexes kicked in, and she spun George with her. They fell against the ground and rolled up against an overturned coffin.
The stinking smog pushed onwards and outwards.
‘The island’s sinking,’ George blurted out. ‘We’ve got to get to your boat.’
‘We need to get out of this cavern first,’ Rachel urged. ‘The water’s rising fast and that smog smells poisonous –’
The cavern plunged into darkness.
‘Oh, that’s just great,’ George spat. ‘Now, what do we do –?’
Rachel and George froze: a fiery white light swam towards them with all haste, but it struggled against the strong current and rising water.
‘What on earth is it?’ Rachel hissed.
‘Er – maybe we should keep away from it –’ George began.
Breaking water, the albino squirrel leapt onto the rock and shook its blazing fur. ‘It’s Serendipity,’ Rachel cried out with joy.
The huge cavern basked in its white light. It stood on its hind legs, looked them up and down and twitched its whiskers nervously, deciding whether they were friend or foe, but at last, it gave them an urgent couple of squeaks and then scampered over towards the recess in the rocks.
‘I think it wants us to follow it,’ Rachel suggested.
‘You can’t be serious?’ George barked. ‘You want us to follow a soggy squirrel that’s lit up like a light bulb?’
‘Rats leave a sinking ship,’ Rachel said, treading tentatively towards the squirrel as not to spook it. ‘Serendipity will be our guiding light.’
‘Anyway, there isn’t a way through there,’ said George knowingly. ‘The tunnel to the mine caved in years ago –’
Serendipity scurried through the tunnel’s entrance and spun around, squeaking back them with the utmost urgency.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ George added.
The thickening smog edged closer.
‘C’mon, George – let’s get out of here,’ Rachel screeched, and they both ran towards Serendipity and the tunnel beyond.
✽✽✽
The mine’s wooden beams creaked and groaned.
Discoloured water dribbled down the drenched rock face. With every breath, Rachel tasted the minerals in the monotonous mist that impaired their desperate flight from the encroaching smog. Behind her, George cursed as he slipped on the walkway that had just about rotted away.
Serendipity’s frantic canter had all but dribbled down to a feeble trot, and its fur barely lit the path in front of them.
‘What’s that up ahead?’ Rachel asked.
‘It’s the main mine shaft – you can feel the breeze,’ George replied.
With the end just in sight, Rachel quickened her pace, and she almost stepped on Serendipity’s tail as it did its best to keep ahead of her.
In her haste, she had almost fallen headfirst into the mineshaft, as it had dropped down for at least twenty feet directly below them.
The mineshaft walls glistened with muddy striations.
They managed to get down in one piece with just a few scrapes and scratches; however, their clothes bore the brunt of their endeavour.
‘Which way now, Serendipity?’ Rachel asked, brushing the cloying mud off the front of her dress. ‘I know you’re tired, but we need to –’
Serendipity squeaked, flicked its tail agitatedly, ruffled its whiskers with its paws, turned and scurried away up the mineshaft.
‘COME BACK HERE – YOU STUPID SQUIRREL,’ bellowed George furiously. ‘Well, that’s just peachy – now we’re really in the dark –’
George ate his words: Serendipity’s fur soaked up the feeble sunlight, which relit the tunnel with thriving white light, but suddenly it waved its paws back and forth – squeaking desperately like a call to arms.
‘C’mon, Rachel – your squirrel’s come up trumps – it’s found a way out of here,’ George cried. ‘What – what are you doing down there?’
‘Shusss, George,’ she replied. ‘I’m pretty sure I can hear a rumbling sound beneath us,’ she added and pressed her ear even harder against the ground, creasing and messing up her dress even more.
‘All I can hear is that squirrel of yours,’ he moaned, but his feet felt the odd rumbling sound that grew more intense after each passing moment.
Serendipity squeaked no more.
‘Um – shouldn’t we be getting a move on,’ added George uneasily.
‘Whatever it is, it’s getting closer,’ said Rachel, more curious than worried as she sprang to her feet, dusted herself down and squinted into the mineshaft’s black abyss. ‘Hmmm… I still can’t see anything –’