The Gates of Hades
A solitary bird called loudly from high among the tall chimneys as they crossed the gardens to the gate in the wall. It was the only sound to break the silence. Rupert, Laura and Drew scuffed their way through the carpet of autumn leaves covering the path. Rebecca followed behind, lost in her thoughts.
‘I’m cold,’ muttered Laura, zipping up her jacket and stuffing her hands deep into the pockets. The temperature was falling fast.
‘Townie,’ grinned Rupert. ‘It’s just good, fresh, country air.’
‘Says the man with two jumpers on,’ mocked Drew, pointing at Rupert’s padded frame.
‘Bit of a sad style statement, there, Rupe.’
Rupert shrugged his shoulders. ‘Clothes, schmothes,’ he grinned. ‘The world is too hung up on what it looks like.’
‘You could do with hanging up a few of the things you wear,’ laughed Laura.
They reached a junction in the path. A signpost pointed towards ‘Smugglers’ Chapel’. Drew and Rupert exchanged glances.
‘What ?’ said Rebecca, noticing their expressions.
‘That’s where our friend led us,’ said Drew.
‘And where he lost you,’ added Rebecca, pointedly.
‘Yeah, all right.’ Drew was staring down the path. ‘Fancy a quick detour?’
‘Why?’ asked Laura. ‘Surely he’s long gone by now?’
The others looked at Drew. ‘Something’s niggling me. That bell tolling. Something is not right about that place.’
‘All right but let’s be quick,’ said Rebecca. ‘We’re going to get found out if we don’t get back soon.’
A short walk brought them to the clearing and a low stone wall around the graveyard of the old chapel. A crow squawked loudly overhead, causing Laura to start. She smiled self-consciously at the others. The chapel was silent and dark, throwing long, impenetrable shadows across the graveyard.
‘Spooky,’ breathed Drew, eyeing the bell tower. He pushed open a squeaky metal gate into the graveyard. The others followed.
‘There’s a witch’s grave over there,’ said Rupert, pointing to the far corner. ‘Outside the wall. Witches could not be buried on sanctified ground.’
‘How do you know she was a witch?’ asked Laura.
‘Another local legend. Her name was Elsinore Gubbins, a nanny at the Manor hundreds of years back, looking after his lordship’s children. All of them fell ill with a sudden fever, probably the plague or something. They died and his Lordship blamed poor Elsinore, said she had possessed them with evil spirits. She was tried as a witch and drowned. As they would not let her be buried in the churchyard, her father dug her a grave outside the church boundary.’
‘How unfair!’ said Laura. ‘I bet it wasn’t her fault.’
‘Pretty bad if you were accused of witchcraft. They tied you up and flung you in the water. If you floated, you were a witch so you’d be burned; if you drowned you weren’t a witch, but you were dead.’
‘There’s an aura here, too, just like the Manor,’ said Laura. ‘A sense of hopelessness, somehow, as if something terribly sad and irreparable has happened.’
‘You’ve been at the ghost stories in the Library, haven’t you?’ said Rebecca, drily.
‘Nazis, pirate’s curses, now a murdering witch! What other delights have you got in store for us, Rupe?’ Drew stepped over a fallen gravestone.
‘What are we doing here, Campbell?’ Rebecca brought them all back to the present.
At that moment, the bell rang. They looked up sharply.
‘Ten o’clock.’ Laura looked at her watch. The chimes confirmed this. Everyone relaxed.
‘Let’s split up and look around.’
Laura and Rupert took the small path around the side of the church, while Rebecca and Drew started to examine the gravestones, gradually moving further apart. Rebecca looked up, frustrated. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. She was about to call to Drew when her attention was drawn to a movement in the shadows at the far end by the wall.
‘Drew! Look!’ Her voice, when it came, was a croak, too quiet for Drew on the other side of the graveyard to hear.
A hooded figure stood between the gravestones, facing her. Mist licked around his feet, the air suddenly bitingly cold. The hooded figure stared. Rebecca was transfixed, unable to move. Her heart pounded in her chest, blood pulsing through her temples. She opened her mouth but could not utter a sound. Slowly the figure raised an arm and pointed at her. A voice. Cold, harsh, unnatural.
‘I know what ye seek. Heed me, harken unto me. Seek it not, lest ye open the gates to Hades.’ The figure stayed for a couple of seconds before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the trees. Rebecca took a couple of steps forward as if to pursue, but stopped, realising he had vanished. She called out again, her voice suddenly returning.
‘I saw it! Him! The Black Monk!’
Drew ran over, leaping the last gravestone. Rupert and Laura appeared from the other direction.
‘Where did he go?’
‘He … vanished,’ said Rebecca, her eyes like saucers.
‘That’s why we came here!’ Drew said, as she pointed to where the figure had stood.
‘You’re sure it wasn’t same guy as before?’ asked Rupert
‘Rupert, this one was dressed in black … black!’ Rebecca clutched his arm.
‘So … not our monk, then … but something … altogether different,’ said Drew slowly, staring into the depths of the woods.
‘The Black Monk? … The ghost the café owner saw?’ Rupert’s face registered disbelief.
Rebecca felt herself calming down. Her thoughts though were restless. ‘He was warning us… warning us off. ‘Seek it not’, he said. ‘Seek it not lest ye open the gates to Hades’.’
‘Hades?’ Drew raised his eyebrows.
‘Hell.’
‘Ah.’ Drew nodded, as if it was something of this nature that he had feared.
‘Guys, the Black Monk is just a story,’ Rupert was shaking his head, disbelieving.
‘Something for the tourists. Not … real.’
‘Then tell us what Rebecca just saw, Rupert,’ said Laura.
Drew gave a short laugh. ‘Laura is right. There is something about this place.’
Rebecca raised her eyebrows, as if expecting an explanation. Drew shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me what.’
‘I’m not sure I like any of this,’ said Laura, shivering.
Rebecca was no longer paying them any attention. ‘Seek what?’ she asked out loud.
‘Seek what?’