The Black Room

THEY’D ARRANGED TO LEAVE ROBERT’S HOUSE TOGETHER, at half past one. Tom lay on his bed, fully dressed under his duvet, and waited for the right time to sneak out and meet the other two.

He had no trouble staying awake. He felt as though he would never sleep again. Not now that he knew about the girl under the floor. They must all be in it together—Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong and Warren, too. What were they doing? Why did they keep her there?

His brain made lurid pictures of Mr. Armstrong, blown up to the size of a giant, with the girl standing in the palm of his hand. She stood and stretched, ready to run away, and his fingers closed around her, one by one. Not crushing her, but coming together like bars, to keep her where she was. Tom saw her tiny, pale face peering through the gaps between the fingers—until Mr. Armstrong’s other hand moved across in front of it, stroking his curled fist.

It was a terrible picture. Tom couldn’t wait to wrestle those fingers open and snatch the girl away. She had to be rescued. If they couldn’t get her out themselves, tonight, then they had to call the police. That was clear.

By QUARTER PAST ONE, HIS PARENTS WERE ASLEEP. IT WAS easy to slide out of bed and down the stairs. The only tricky part was getting his bike out of the shed without making a noise. He did it slowly, being supercautious, and that made him late. It was just after half past one when he reached Robert’s house.

Robert and Emma were already out on the pavement, a little way down the road. They both had their bikes, and Emma was wearing a bulging backpack. Tom knew what was inside that. They’d made very careful, detailed plans.

The three of them set off across the city, cycling one behind the other, without speaking. The streets in the center were eerily empty, with all the shops shuttered and the office blocks dark and silent.

Even when they reached the development, there was no one on the streets. There were lights in some of the houses, but it was too cold for loitering outside. Tom’s fingers were almost numb, and when he touched the bare metal of his handlebars, it stung like fire.

They stopped just before they reached the Armstrongs’ street. Robert unzipped Emma’s backpack and took out an oilcan. Then he went ahead on his own, leaving Tom and Emma with the bikes.

“He ought to have gone along the embankment,” Emma muttered under her breath. “It’s too risky going through all those gardens. There might be dogs. And he’s so clumsy.”

Tom thought of Robert creeping along the street. Diving down the side of the nearest house and moving silently from garden to garden. “He’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “You haven’t seen how good he is now. And he’s only got to cross a few fences.”

Emma was trying to sound brittle and detached. A week ago, Tom would have thought, Leave him alone, you hag. But it was different now. He took a random guess, to comfort her.

Emma looked at her watch and nodded briskly. “All right. We’ll take a look in ten minutes. Now we’d better be quiet—unless someone comes along. We’ll talk then, so we don’t look suspicious.”

It seemed a long ten minutes, with nothing to do and no talking. Emma looked at her watch a dozen times. After nine and a half minutes, she pushed the bikes at Tom and went to the corner. She came back very quickly, and when she spoke, her voice was shaking.

Until that moment, Tom hadn’t thought about leaving her alone in the dark. Suddenly he imagined what it would be like for her, waiting on and on, with nothing to do but look at her watch. “Do you want to go instead of me?” he whispered.

“Well—shout if there’s anything wrong.” Tom wanted to tell her not to be frightened, but he didn’t dare. He just passed the bikes over to her and went quickly and quietly around the corner and into the Armstrongs’ street.

It was after two o‘clock now, and all the houses were dark. He hurried down the road, trusting that no one was looking out at him. When he reached the far end, he stepped off the pavement and onto the grass in front of the Armstrongs’ house.

Five slow, careful steps took him up to the side gate. He pushed cautiously at it, hoping that Robert had remembered to oil the hinges as well as the bolts. It opened as silently as a gate in a dream, and he stepped through it into the darkness of the back garden.

All the conservatory blinds were pulled shut, but around the edges he could see a glimmer of cold light from the television. The sound was turned down, but he could hear it faintly from outside. There was no sign of Robert, though—and nothing to show whether Warren had turned off the burglar alarm.

Tom’s heart was beating so fast that he could hardly breathe. For a second, he was sure that the whole thing was a delusion. How could there be a room under the floor? How could there be a girl hidden down there? It was impossible.

Then he realized that he could hear the television only because the conservatory door was slightly open.

He crept up and put his eye to the opening. In the light from the television, he saw Robert on his knees on the red rug, with the side of his head against the floor. It took Robert a second to realize that Tom was there. When he did, he beckoned vigorously, pointing to his ear and then down at the ground.

Tom knelt down and listened. For a moment the noise of the television distracted him. He put a hand over one ear, to shut it out, and put the other ear against the floor. Through the wood, he heard a faint, high humming. Not a tune, but a long, wordless note that moved unsteadily around the same pitch.

Robert put a hand on Tom’s arm, pulling him up. He tapped at his watch and then pointed to the television. Tom knew he was right. They had no idea what to expect when they tried to get the girl to move, but it made sense to open up the black room as quickly as possible.

They lifted the television out of the way and then Tom began to roll up the rug, glad of the rehearsed, familiar actions. But this time being quiet was more important than being fast. Robert took his time turning the catches on the lid, and when they were open, he raised the lid very slowly, letting the dim light filter down into the dark space underneath.

Robert leaned over, putting his head right down into the hole. Tom heard a short, stifled sound, like someone breathing in quickly.

“I think she’s up at the far end,” Robert muttered. He sat back and swung his legs into the hole. “I don’t want to use the flashlight if I can help it. I think it’s better if I go in and get her.”

“Don’t frighten her,” Tom whispered. Knowing it was a stupid thing to say. They had no idea how she was going to react to anything.

Robert let himself down into the hole. It was not big enough for him to stand upright. He had to bend over and shuffle forward.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “We’re your friends. We’ve come to rescue you.”

Robert straightened up, with his head sticking through the hatch. “She just keeps moving backward. I don’t want to make her yell. And I can’t get her to look at me.”

“Let me try.” Tom stood back to let Robert out and then slid over the edge, into the hole.

It was very dark down there. And cold. And damp. The girl’s face was a pale glimmer, in the far corner, where he’d seen her before. She was holding her head in the same way, sideways on to him, with her hands over her mouth.

There was a flashlight in his pocket, and he was tempted to switch it on, but it seemed like too much of a shock. He squatted down, to make himself look smaller and less intimidating, and hunted for something simple and soothing to say. The most obvious sound was the one she had already made herself.

The girl tilted her head slightly, moving her face away from him. But her body leaned closer. He realized that she was turning her ear to catch the sound he made.

He was rewarded by a turn of her whole body. She twisted around, coming forward on her hands and knees, and presented him with the other ear.

Robert reached through the trapdoor, prodding at his back. “We’ve got to do something,” he hissed. “We have to get her out.”

The girl’s head turned again, and she picked up the last word. “Out,” she said. Her voice was very soft, and she spoke in a strange way, moving her tongue around in her mouth so that the word was blurred and strange.

She began shuffling toward him, still on all fours, shaking off blankets and pushing them behind her. As she came closer, he was aware of a strong, sweet scent, like powder or cheap soap, with something stronger and sourer underneath it. She moved in very close, the way a small child would, putting her face up to Tom’s and moving it around. For a second he thought she must have trouble with her eyes. Then he realized that she was sniffing at him.

He began to back away, toward the trapdoor, holding his hands out for her to follow him. She edged forward suspiciously, stopping after each step, and Tom slowed down to keep pace with her, holding his breath as they reached the opening.

She put her head back and looked up, and he heard her sniff again. And then stop, as she caught Robert’s scent. She was breathing very fast now, and Tom could feel how tense she was.

He moved beyond the opening and gestured up at it, to show that she was free to go up on her own. But she clearly didn’t understand what he meant. She looked across at him and then copied his gesture, watching her own hand. Frowning as she tried to puzzle it out.

“I think we’re going to have to lift her up,” Tom said softly. “Can you manage that, Robbo?”

Robert’s head appeared in the space, blocking out most of the light. The girl tensed and shrank away, and Tom thought she was going to scuttle back to her corner.

“Come on,” Robert said. He reached his long arms down into the space. “We only want you to come out.”

The girl put a hand over her mouth again. “Out,” she said between her fingers. And then, “Where everybody knows your name.”

She stood up and reached through the hole, wrapping her other arm around Robert’s neck impersonally, as if he were a piece of furniture.

Tom put his arms around the girl’s legs and hoisted her up. Her body felt soft and thick, but all the bulk came from layers of clothes. Underneath them, her body was as light and fragile as a bird’s under its feathers.

As soon as her head was through the conservatory floor, she went rigid. Tom felt her legs stiffen, and she began to dart her head from side to side, making small whimpering noises.

The television was loud enough to stop her voice from being heard beyond the conservatory, but the whimpering sounds went on and on.

Robert hauled her up, almost roughly, and sat her on the edge of the hole, and Tom scrambled out behind her. She had a hand jammed over her mouth, but she was still whimpering. And each time she made a sound, she clenched her other hand into a loose fist and smacked it hard against her cheek.

“What are we supposed to do? Leave her?” Tom shook his head fiercely. “We didn’t do this to her, Robbo. It’s because she’s been down in that hole. We’ve got to rescue her.”

The girl’s head was still going from side to side, peering around the dark conservatory. Suddenly, she put her hands to the ground and scuttled across to the television, on all fours. The moment its light hit her face, she relaxed and held her hands out toward it.

“Hand it over.” Tom clicked his fingers. “Don’t you see? She’s not used to being in the dark up here. This is the light place.” He took the flashlight and turned it on, aiming it down at the floor, just in front of the television.

Slowly, Tom moved the flashlight beam across the floor and up the front of the television. The girl’s face was transformed. She stared at the moving light with an expression of wonder, as if it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Well done,” Robert muttered. “What happens if you try moving? Can we get her out of here?”

Step by step, Tom backed toward the door, circling the light in slow, regular loops. The girl followed him, still crawling, until he reached the door. Then he stopped, and she levered herself up onto her feet and began to move one hand around, imitating what he had been doing. She stood awkwardly, but she was quite steady.

After a moment or two, he started circling the flashlight again, and she copied him exactly, watching the patterns that the light made on the floor and mirroring his movements.

Without turning around, Tom reached behind him and opened the door. He stepped out backward, into the garden, and the girl whimpered again, holding her hands out to the flashlight.

His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, because he was nervous. Immediately, her fist went up to her face, punching harder than before, so that she flinched sideways from her own blow.

“What are we going to do?” Robert whispered. “Maybe she’s never been out. Maybe it’s too frightening.”

Tom took a few more steps backward, looping the flashlight around and around so that the beam made curlicues on the grass. The girl hovered in the doorway, with one hand held out toward him. He could see her whole body trembling. She wanted to come after him. There was no doubt about that. But she was obviously terrified.

He held out the flashlight, offering it to her, and she stretched out her hand to take it, but she was too far away. She gave a little moan and then jammed the other hand over her mouth again.

“I can’t bear this,” Robert said suddenly. “Let’s just do it. Get out of the way, Tosh. I’m going to take her and go.”

Without giving her any warning, he came up behind her and scooped her into his arms, going straight out through the conservatory door. She squirmed and pushed at his chest, but he was much stronger than she was.

She was making louder noises now, but they were still stifled by her hand. Robert began moving toward the side gate, and Tom went to open it for him.

They were almost there when there was a small click, very loud in the silence. The kitchen door opened suddenly, and Warren was there, staring out at them.