Wicked Little Deeds, page 26
They’re leaving?
I let out a quiet breath. We just need to wait for them to go, and then we can get out of here and call the cops without worrying about flying crowbars.
Dominic squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.
‘Fine,’ Ty says. ‘I’ll check again. Meet me out back, OK? And watch out for that damn dog. I only stunned it.’
My heart is thumping so loudly I’m surprised the sound doesn’t carry through the door.
Uncle Ty hurries away again, then there’s silence for a minute.
‘Can you smell something?’ Dominic whispers next to my ear. I’m about to shake my head when I catch it above the scent of sour apples – something strong and chemical. Before I can say anything, lighter footsteps pass by the cellar door. There are more clicking, scraping sounds, then an odd sort of whoosh.
Light flickers in through the cracks around the door, and in it I see Dominic staring at me, wide-eyed. ‘Fire,’ he mouths.
I pull open the door, but immediately shut it again. A carpet of flames has consumed the entire kitchen floor.
‘Shit! How are we gonna get out?’ I say, my voice cracking in fear.
‘Is there a window or something down here?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Only the trapdoor to the pit, and that doesn’t help us.’
‘The pit?’
‘An old cold-storage room below the cellar.’
Smoke has started to pour in around the door now. By silent agreement, we retreat down the cellar steps. I snuck down these same stairs plenty of times over the last couple of years to take one of the least-noticeable bottles from the racks of wine and liquor. I know every creaky board, every uneven stair.
It quickly becomes too dark to see again, so Dominic takes out his phone. In the light it gives, I see the cellar already filling with smoke.
‘We’ll die from smoke inhalation if we don’t get out of here,’ I say, and immediately begin coughing. ‘We need to call for help.’
‘I called the cops while I was outside,’ Dominic says, coughing, too. ‘They’re coming, but the fresh snow on the roads will probably hold them up.’
We drop down onto our hands and knees, trying to breathe the clearer air under the smoke. I can already feel the effects of it making me sluggish.
In the light of Dominic’s phone, I take in the familiar space around us. It looks exactly the same as the day I left – the tall racks housing hundreds and hundreds of vintage bottles standing in rows, filling almost the entire space. There’s even one of Grandpa’s reaching ladders sitting over in the corner, giving the cellar the appearance of a library. A library of liquor. I remember Uncle Ty saying the buyer had negotiated to include the liquor collection; he’d seemed gutted to be handing over all that booze. Good, I think now. Except I realize it’s not good at all – it’s pretty fucking terrible.
‘When the fire gets through that door, this whole room will go up.’ I try not to imagine the feel of the flames swallowing us, the blistering agony of dying that way.
‘If the pit was used for cold storage, it might give us some protection,’ Dominic says. I can tell he’s trying hard not to sound scared. ‘At least for a while.’
I nod, then lead the way, still keeping low, coughing into my elbow as my eyes stream. When I reach the far corner, I feel around on the floor for the outline of the trapdoor.
There – got it.
I pull the ring and heave it open. A cold, decayed breath rushes up from the pit. It takes every bit of my willpower not to cower away from it. Dominic shines his phone’s flashlight down.
The light is weak against the darkness of the pit. Still, I make out the familiar circular stone walls, the ancient metal rungs leading down from the hatch, the damp earth lining the base. I do not want to go down there. My fingers dig into the edge of the hole, but then my hand slips, and I jerk forward, about to plunge head first into the pit.
Dominic grabs my shoulder, hauling me back.
‘Thanks,’ I say, and in that moment I see the stark contrast between him – a boy I would’ve sworn a few weeks ago was my mortal enemy – and Uncle Ty, who’s my sole remaining blood relative. In this exact same spot, one of them pushed me into danger, and the other pulled me back from it.
When Ford shoved me aside so I almost got hit by an out-of-control car, I knew then that when it came down to it, he just didn’t care about me. Why didn’t I realize the same thing about Uncle Ty? Why didn’t I see him for who he is, not just for who I wanted him to be?
‘Can you do this?’ Dominic asks, probably watching me go through several shades of freaked out.
‘We have to,’ I tell him. The pit is where my ancestors are said to have thrown Sadie. The room she disappeared from without a trace. Of course, I don’t believe that – I know they must have murdered her and hidden her body somewhere.
A scar handed down from one generation to the next.
The thought passes through my mind like a shiver.
Maybe that’s what it really means to be a Bloody Thorn.
The light catches the underside of the hatch, where a witch mark is carved deep into the wood. The only one I’ve ever seen inside the manor. It’s another kind of scar: a mark to stop evil getting into the house. Or maybe from getting out.
I feel the pit yawning below me.
And I know we have no choice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dominic pulls the hatch closed above us just as a loud crack of splintering wood comes from the top of the cellar stairs. Either someone is trying to get in or, more likely, the door is about to give way. When it does, the fire will rush down into a cellar full of liquor.
I adjust my grip on the metal rungs, palms sweaty despite the cold.
OK, OK. We just have to wait. Wait, and hope the cops and the fire department arrive in time to save us. Just wait, and stay alive.
The burning in my muscles from leaning on the ladder at such an awkward angle isn’t helping. I take a deep breath, and start to climb down. It’s only ten feet or so, and maybe eight feet across the circular space. At the bottom, the floor is a crusted layer of mud that reaches up the stone walls to around head level.
I shudder, not from cold exactly, but a sense that I was never meant to be down here – that I’ve broken some unspoken rule simply by setting foot in this place. Dominic shines his flashlight up again. From here, I can barely make out the witch mark on the trapdoor. It’s as though the pit swallows light.
Who carved that mark, though? Was it Sadie? Or someone else, making sure what was done to Sadie was never forgotten, that it would scar the manor forever?
Just how many servants did my ancestors throw down here?
Bile rises in my throat at the thought, but I try and force the thought from my head. If I let myself think about that now, I’ll have a total meltdown.
Dominic climbs down the ladder, jumping the last few rungs to land next to me.
‘The smoke has started to seep through the hatch,’ he says. ‘We don’t have long. I’ll call nine-one-one again, let them know where we are and see how long they’re going to be.’
I nod, not trusting my voice right now. Hugging myself, I circle the pit while Dominic dials.
Something crumbles beneath my boot, and I trip backwards, nailing the wall with my elbow.
‘Are you all right?’
I nod as Dominic comes over and helps me up.
‘I can’t make a call from down here – no signal. But the cops must be on their way, so we just need to sit tight and …’
He notices I’m not listening. Because I’ve seen something in the wall where I just whacked my elbow – a hole.
‘What is that?’ Dominic shines his light on the spot. Where the caked-on mud has cracked away, it’s left behind a dark, elbow-sized recess. I angle my head, trying to see what’s inside.
Nothing. Just more blackness. It’s as though there’s only a dark void beyond the crusted layer of earth. Nothing for the light to snag on. I press against the edges of the hole, and it crumbles inward. Before long, the hole is the size of my head. After a few more seconds, I’ve revealed a circular hole in the wall of the pit, maybe two feet in diameter. It’s lined with bricks, not stone, as if it’s newer than the pit.
‘What the hell …?’ My muttered words race away from us through the exposed tunnel. Is it a tunnel? Or some kind of pipe?
An image comes into my mind: the blueprint of the manor Dominic sent me. The drawing of the cellar, and that straight line running right through the exterior wall of the house. I thought it was for some kind of label, but I was wrong. I look around me again, at the shape of the pit, and the caked-on mud showing where there must at one time have been moisture. It’s bone dry now, but might this once have been filled with water – channelled in from the river, maybe? Like a well inside the house? And if this pipe fed the well, and is now dry, then maybe …
The newspaper article strongly implied that the story about Sadie vanishing from the cellar was a lie to cover up my ancestors murdering her. But what if she did disappear?
It sparks an idea. Not a good idea, or one I particularly want to have. But an idea.
‘I think this might be a way out,’ I say. Again, the sound rushes away into the darkness.
Dominic doesn’t seem too happy about the idea, either, but he nods. ‘It’s worth checking out, right?’
It looks big enough to crawl in on my hands and knees, so I can always back out again if I come face to face with any dead-eyed ghosts.
You just had to think about Sadie, didn’t you?
Maybe I should focus on the much more likely possibility that I’m about to crawl into a confined space with a lot of rats, spiders and snakes.
Better than choking to death, or waiting for the fire.
I stoop and pick up a chunk of the mud I elbowed loose, and throw it as far as I can down the pipe. It clatters along for a few feet, beyond the reach of Dominic’s phone flashlight. Nothing stirs at the intrusion. Still, I hesitate.
‘I can go first,’ he offers, ‘but I’m more likely to get wedged in than you are, and it’s better if at least one of us makes it out.’
‘It’s not like I’d leave you here to die.’
He smirks. ‘I appreciate that. But you could go for help.’
‘OK.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Let’s do this.’
My eyes blur as I look down the circular tunnel. It seems to be growing narrower and narrower. Of all the terrible, terrible ways I’ve considered I might die, being trapped in an underground water pipe has got to be right up there. The moment I think that, I imagine getting wedged into the tight space, not able to go forward or back, darkness all around me, and it suddenly starting to fill with water.
My breath comes quick and shallow. Yep, I’m full-on hyperventilating.
‘Ava?’
I crouch down, tucking my head between my knees, and try to think calm thoughts. Logical thoughts. But they all seem to circle back to the fact that we’re trapped in a creepy-ass underground pit while the manor above us burns, and our only potential way out is through that hell-pipe.
‘Are you all right? I heard Carolyn say something about drugging you earlier.’
I nod, because what else can I do? ‘Yeah, apparently she’s been lacing my coffee with something called PCP.’
Dominic hisses out a breath. ‘Jesus. That’s a strong hallucinogenic.’
‘No shit. I’ve been seeing all kinds of weird things the last couple of weeks, and I have no idea how much of it was real.’
‘But is it affecting you now?’
I straighten up, assess. ‘I don’t think so. Carolyn said she put a megadose in my coffee tonight, but I only had a tiny sip. It tasted disgusting, so I thought it’d gone bad. I actually felt guilty for wasting it.’ I laugh, but it sounds strained. ‘Let’s get on with this.’
Before I can start to hyperventilate again, I climb into the water pipe.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dominic passes me his phone to use as a flashlight, and I hold it between my teeth so I can keep my hands free. My breathing is loud in my own ears. It bounces along the brick tunnel ahead of me like it’s dancing with the light from the phone.
So far, I haven’t seen any rats. Or snakes. Or ghosts. One spider, but it was long dead. Its husk had gone glassy and dried up with age. I hope that doesn’t happen to us.
I hope that didn’t happen to Sadie, either.
Damn it. Why didn’t it occur to me that maybe – just maybe – the reason Sadie disappeared was because she got stuck in this goddamn pipe? What if she died in here? Are we about to crawl across a hundred-year-old skeleton? Then I see it: there’s something up ahead and it’s moving. A spider, maybe, except it’s too big. Still, it moves like one. Legs hinged back, it crawls along the roof of the tunnel. I take the phone from my mouth, angling the light towards it.
‘Dominic,’ I whisper, not wanting to draw its attention, but my voice is lost in the rasp of my dry throat. Because the not-spider is huge. Like, person-sized. And it’s still skittering in our direction, a vague black shape beyond the reach of my flashlight.
Dominic bumps me from behind, and I almost drop the phone. The light jitters around the inside of the pipe, filling with light the shadows that just a moment ago housed an enormous spider-thing.
‘Are you OK?’ Dominic asks, voice muffled by my own ass.
‘I think …’ I shake my head, trying to clear the fuzzy waves that have started to appear at the edge of my vision. ‘Yeah, I think that PCP might be having an effect on me, after all.’
‘You’re OK. I’m with you. Just keep going,’ Dominic says from behind me. No matter what else is freaking me out right now, I’m glad he’s here with me. More for my benefit than his, of course, but I’m still glad.
‘Keep going,’ I repeat. The pipe mutters back to me. But, in my head, the shuffling sound of our hands and knees in the old dirt dredges up another chant from my memory.
We all have to crawl …
We all have to crawl …
WE ALL HAVE TO CRAWL.
Something brushes against my cheek, and I scream. The phone clatters onto the dirt in front of me.
We’re plunged into darkness.
No!
‘What is it? What happened?’ Dominic calls from behind me.
I scrabble around for the phone. As soon as I find it and pick it up, the light returns. It was lying with the light facing down, that’s all. I let out a whimper of relief.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Something touched my face, but I think it was just my hair.’
I dust off the phone before putting it back in my mouth, and we continue.
Then a snicker sounds up ahead. Although the flashlight doesn’t reach far, I can’t see anyone, or anything, rushing to meet us. I can’t see much at all.
Oh God, what’s up there?
I have no idea how far we’ve crawled, or whether we might still be close to the pit, or nearer to wherever the pipe leads. But we can’t go back. There’s no way to turn around, and we can’t crawl back into a fire. So I keep moving forward. Faster, faster. Crusted dirt and brick scrape my hands and knees, but I don’t care. I keep moving, ignoring the way my breaths echo back to me. Ignoring the snickers bouncing from up ahead of us. I don’t want to know what I’m hurrying towards, not really. I just want to get out. We have to keep crawling. Have to crawl.
We all have to crawl …
‘Fuu-huu-huuuck,’ I groan, phone still jammed between my teeth. I have spit and tears running down my chin, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. I just have to keep going. I have to keep –
The pipe ends directly in front of me.
I’m facing a wall of earth.
There’s no rhyme nor reason to it, it just … ends. I take the phone from my mouth.
‘What’s going on?’ Dominic says behind me. ‘Are you stuck?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, trying my best to sound calm, even though we both know that’s a lie. I prod the wall in front of me, just to check I’m not hallucinating it. ‘Maybe the pipe collapsed. It might be what blocked off the flow of water to the pit.’
The earth feels damp against my fingers, like clay. I press against it, and a lump falls onto the floor of the pipe in front of me.
‘Maybe I can dig through it. It could lead to a way out.’
Or it could unleash a torrent of water from the river, and we’ll drown in this pipe. I’m pretty sure the same thought occurs to Dominic because he says nothing.
Damn it.
I’m just going to have to hope that whatever water channel was feeding this pipe has now dried up. Digging my fingers into the mud wall ahead of me, I begin to claw out goopy handfuls. I push deeper, testing to see how thick the wall is.
A trickle of water sluices out towards me.
‘Keep going,’ Dominic says.
I dig. The floor of the pipe in front of me is filling with clay and water and I still can’t dig it out fast enough. It’s pouring in now, and I start using my forearms, dragging armfuls of wet mud towards us. Finally, a big lump of the blockage falls away from me, leaving a gaping black hole.
No more water rushes in. But I hear it – the roar of the river somewhere nearby. It vibrates along the pipe, a sound of unstoppable rage. I let it fill me as I shove, one hand then the other, forcing more of the clay outward, making the hole bigger. I throw my weight into it. Too late, I have the awful thought that maybe it comes out somewhere on the sheer cliff face near the waterfall – out onto a deadly drop. But it’s not loud enough for that, only a thrum, really. Anyway, we can’t go back now.
Taking the phone from my mouth, I shine it around the dark space. The light bounces off a circle of water just below the pipe. Above it, the walls are circular and made from stone, just like the walls of the pit, only the space is narrower – maybe five feet across. It smells dank and old, like something that’s gone beyond the point of rot.
‘It’s another well,’ I say out loud, my voice dulled by the dark water next to me. This must have been the original source of water for the house before the pipe was added to connect it to the pit. I trace the path of the pipe in my mind, try to guess where this well sits on the property.
