Darkest Part of the Woods (25 page)

It was a scratching, a scrabbling. It sounded as if the cause of it was digging something up, perhaps itself. It was below him, but in the confined space he couldn't judge how near it was. His aunt hurried forward, thrusting her midriff at him, to search with the light. Sam never knew what prompted him-desperation, disgust with his own passivity, a last attempt to protect her by at least intervening between her and whatever was to be encountered-to snatch the flashlight and thrust the beam into the dark. Once that was done he could only follow it down.

He felt by no means as much in control as he supposed he'd hoped. He was close to feeling that his aunt's bulky presence at his back was forcing him to descend. His limping shook the light, so that the narrow passage appeared to quake on his behalf. With every step he expected a face or less than one to lurch into view. The noises had ceased, but what might that imply? The sweetish decaying smell rose out of the dark as the beam lit another charred stretch of wall. Whatever was down there must have burned, he thought so furiously he almost announced it aloud. He stumbled down to the opening that

presumably had once framed a door and jabbed the light into the blackness.

The occupant of the room was crouching just inside the doorway. When it floundered at him as though it had been awaiting his cue, it took Sam a moment that felt like the end of his life to realise that it had only been pushed forward by its shadow. At first all he saw while he recoiled was what appeared to be its fist-sized mouth, which seemed to widen as the light shook. Then he distinguished that the rest of the face would have been under it-that the round toothless orifice was on top of the small skull, which displayed no other sockets. Otherwise the body looked to have been quite human and scarcely as large as a child's. It must have tried to escape from the room-perhaps even to follow whoever had set the fire-before the flames had seared its bones black. He started when his aunt spoke. "Sad," she whispered. "Another one that didn't make it."

"Who'd want them to?"

She didn't answer immediately upon opening her mouth. His nerves were demanding he reduce the question to one word when she said "We still have to find that out, don't we?"

"No," he muttered-would have shouted if he hadn't been afraid that might draw some attention. He felt as though Sylvia and in particular her midriff were blocking his way back to daylight. When his response didn't move her he said not much more loudly or fiercely "Why, for Christ's sake?"

"Oh, Sam." As well as disappointment he thought he glimpsed a secret loneliness in her eyes. "I know you'll see," she said.

He was seeing the small body with its gaping cranium. He found himself striving to hold the light on it absolutely still rather than allow the dark to hide it while it was near him.

Once he'd stayed immobile for some moments his aunt said "Are you going to carry on leading or shall I take over?"

He ached to say that the answer was neither. He couldn't even tell which was worse. The light wobbled half out of the room as he took one faltering pace downwards. "Go ahead, Sam.

You can do it," his aunt said as if she was amused by his behaviour. That angered him so much it almost overpowered his panic, and he limped down fast into the twisting stony dark. No sound came to greet him, and only a hint of an odour suggestive of more than decomposition seemed to be lying in wait as the steps fell away at the edge of the light. Then they ended, so abruptly that he snatched away from the wall the hand that had been doing its best to steady him and doubled his grip on the flashlight. "What is it?" Sylvia demanded, resentful of his nervousness.

"I don't know yet," Sam protested, and forced himself to direct the beam into the rectangular hole below him. It was by no means as deep as shadows had made it appear. It had been exposed by the removal of a loose step that lay on its lower neighbour, the steps not having ended after all. They led to a doorway and, at the limit of the flashlight, were terminated by a blank wall. As he leaned towards the hole exposed by the step he willed it to be empty-to contain nothing that might tempt Sylvia to venture closer to the unlit room. He struggled not to react, but a grunt of dismay escaped him. "What is it?" Sylvia repeated, pressing her midriff against his spine in an attempt to crane over his shoulder.

It was a book not much smaller than the shallow cavity. Sam considered saying there was nothing but knew that wouldn't satisfy her. He ran limping down the steps as the walls capered about him and the doorway worked like a hungry mouth.

He grabbed the heavy book] and held it against his chest, though the black leather binding was cold as a reptile, a dead reptile that nonetheless felt capable of movement. He fled up to prevent Sylvia from descending more than a couple of steps to meet him and thrust the book into her hands. "That's all," he said wildly.

He was praying that his urgency together with the prize would send her out of the cellars, but she gave him a quizzical look. "What else is down there, Sam?"

"Nothing." He shouldn't have glanced back, he realised. "Isn't that enough?" he said, and managed to sound reproachful.

"Let's see," his aunt said, holding out one hand for the flashlight while she propped the book on the mound of her midriff.

He didn't want to relinquish control of the light-to lack even that meagre defence against anything behind him. When he handed it to Sylvia his mind did its utmost to observe his actions as distantly as possible. He watched her sink into a crouch and open the book on her lap, then train the light on the first page. "Sam," she breathed.

Her voice wasn't just appreciative, it was insisting that he look. He could tell she wouldn't move until he did, and so he bent his head over the page as she angled the volume towards him. The page was blank except for a very few words in a thick angular handwriting Sam took to be centuries old, though the black ink gleamed like an insect's carapace.

Nat. Selcouth, his Journall.

"That's great," he said, and altogether more sincerely "Had you better read the rest of it outside?"

"Seems like this might be the ideal place."

"You don't want the stone up there sliding down and shutting us in."

At once he wished he hadn't thought that, let alone said it with the darkness at his back, but his dread must be worthwhile if it communicated itself to Sylvia.

She touched the corner of the page to turn it, then let it he. "Could be you're right," she said, passing him the book as she rose slowly to her feet. "Will you look after it for me?"

"I'll do that," he said-surely little enough to undertake if it sped them on their way. He hugged the book to his chest and planted his other hand on the wall, which felt exactly as cold as the binding, while Sylvia took almost more time than he could bear over facing upwards.

The light reeled around her, then steadied as she trod on the next higher step. Some illumination was reflected off the wall, and Sam risked a final backward glance into the dimness. Something had come to the doorway to watch.

Its hands were gripping both sides of the entrance. The fingers were at least twice as long as his, though thinner, and there were too many on each hand. He could just distinguish that they encrusted with a substance that might have been lichen. He glimpsed long arms reaching out of the darkness from a shape that he was profoundly grateful to be unable to see in any detail, especially whatever face might be found on its huge pale head. The sweetish odour drifted up the steps, and Sam wondered if that was its breath.

When he grew aware of bruising his chest with the book he only clutched it harder, to keep in any sound that might halt Sylvia. He had to turn his back on the doorway in case she saw him looking and wanted to know why-worse, insisting on finding out. As she climbed towards the daylight he followed almost close enough to trip her up-to send both of them tumbling into the dark.

The curve of the passage intervened between him and the lowest room, but that was no relief. His aunt seemed to be finding the climb significantly more of a task than descent had been. His ears throbbed with listening for any hint of pursuit, until he could scarcely hear.

Sylvia switched off the flashlight before he'd quite escaped the dark. He limped quickly into the daylight, only to have to wait while she sidled past the fallen chunk of stone. He hadn't emerged from the passage when she halted and looked down at him. "Block it after us, Sam."

He wouldn't have needed telling. He thrust the book at her and dragged the stone fragment onto the mound, then planted his feet on either side of the opening and dug his fingertips behind the upper edge of the rest of the slab. It was too heavy to move. No, he was able to wriggle his fingers further behind it, scraping off skin. His feet wavered on the brink that was slippery with earth.

He felt himself falling, and hurled himself backwards, heaving the slab with him. It tottered on its edge and then, just as he dodged, fell into place with a stony crash that sent up a whiff of decay. As he manhandled the remainder into the gap it had left, Sylvia handed him the spade. "Better cover it," she said.

He could think of plenty of reason, but he needed to know hers. "What for?"

"We don't want anyone else seeing, do we?"

"Why not?"

"Because they wouldn't understand." In a tone close to wistful she added "I'm not sure you do."

She was right about that, he thought, and wondered if he should be glad. He began to fling spadefuls of earth on the slab as the trees pranced in celebration of their capture of the sun while their lengthening shadows clawed their way towards him. He didn't finish until the area that hid the steps was piled with earth. He flattened the patch before limping hastily after Sylvia to abandon the spade among the trees. If he was going to forget some or all of the day's events once he left the woods, part of his mind welcomed that. He thought he would prefer to be unaware of fearing that neither the slab nor the weight of earth could imprison the creature he'd glimpsed in the dark.

24

The Gift of Vision

RANDALL waited until Heather had finished printing out from the computer. Once he'd stroked his bushy eyebrows he used the forefinger to hold his tentative smile still. As she took hold of the page, which felt as unnaturally warm as the January day outside, he said "Something of interest?"

"There wouldn't be much point otherwise," Heather said with studied gentleness, "would there?"

"Sorry," he said hastily, blinking his pale blue eyes less wide. "I didn't mean to..."

"No, I am. Don't take any notice of me."

"I don't know how I'd stop doing that, supposing I wanted to." Having earned himself a fleeting smile, he said "May I see?"

Heather watched him read the page she'd printed from the International Foundation for Occult Research website. Eventually he said "I take it the point of interest is that it's local."

"Too

much

so."

That visibly took him aback. After a pause he said "So what use will you be making of it?"

She wished she knew. She'd lost patience with herself for not printing out the information when she had originally found it, but now she had it in her hands she wasn't sure why. She thought Margo would either dismiss it or take her to task for having sought it out, and wouldn't it simply aggravate Sylvia's obsession with the woods? She was trying mostly to convince herself by saying "As much as I can."

"I don't suppose this is really the place."

"For what, I'm sorry?"

A cough that stayed inside his lips appeared to be the whole of his answer until he went as far as murmuring "If you'd ever like to, ah..."

"I'm lost, Randall."

"I wondered, well, I mustn't presume."

"I haven't heard you do that yet"

"It was only that if you ever need someone to talk to, of course I realise you have your family, but someone other than them, though I'm sure you have many friends too..."

She'd lost nearly all of those once her father had betrayed his condition to them Those who'd wanted to stay friends had been prevented by their parents, either for fear that she might have been infected by his state and infectious as well or that Lennox was dangerous. No doubt the association with drugs had lowered her status further. "You're here," she rounded off Randall's sentence for him.

"That's it, though as I say, perhaps here isn't ideal. If you ever felt like going out for a drink, or a meal if you'd rather, or by all means both..."

Just now she felt her life was undergoing all the changes she could cope with.

"That's extremely kind of you, Randall," she said.

"Nothing to do with kindness. Please don't think that, especially if it means you'll say no."

"It must have something to do with it, since you're kind."

"Well, thank you, but it isn't only that. Not even largely." He turned as much of his back as seemed not unambiguously impolite towards the counter, where a student with her hair entwined in many colours was dumping an armful of medical books "Is it best left for the moment?" he murmured.

"Thanks for understanding. If I ever need a confidant I'll where to come."

It wasn't until his eyes grew studiedly blank that she realised he had!

been proposing they continue the discussion without an audience. She was searching for a response that he would neither misinterpret nor find embarrassing when the phone rang. "I'll deal with that," he declared as though it had rescued him.

"Thanks," Heather told the student, not only for the books, heard Randall say "I'll see if she's about."

Though he wasn't looking at her, she could understand why might prefer not to.

"Is it for me?"

With a faint sigh at her having let herself be overheard he admitted "She's here now."

"Who is it?"

"Tommy Bennett."

Heather shrugged at failing to recognise the name and took the phone from Randall's carefully aloof grasp. "Hello?"

"It isn't Mrs. Price, is it?"

She was being told that rather than asked, and by a woman's unfriendly voice too. "It used to be Miss and now it's Ms," she said. "Who did you say you were calling for?"