At the same moment Marko uttered the words, ‘Fisher? Can you hear running water?’ Josanne was fighting for her life. She had to battle to keep upright as the water swirled around her. Now it had reached the top of her thighs. The stuff was like liquid ice. And still it thundered into the cellar.
Josanne struggled across the vault to where it exited into the main part of the cellar. The force of the flood compressed the air in the confined space so it hurt her ears. At the end of their mouldy flexes light bulbs swung wildly; shadows became living things that dashed crazily across the cellar walls. And constantly the chimes hammered away at her skull. It could have been the tolling of a cathedral bell. The sound was huge, Overwhelming. Nothing less than a sonic assault on her ears.
I’ve got to get out … If I don’t I’m going to die within the next ten minutes. She forced herself against the black tide. The water stank. When it splashed on her lips she thought she’d vomit. Her pyjamas were drenched. Objects carried underwater by the vortex thumped against her shins – an old chair, maybe, or one of the jars from the shelves. Even old airmen’s uniforms floated on the surface, the fabric limbs moving in some weird dance.
The water rose with breathtaking speed. Moments ago it crept up her thighs. Now it crossed her hips with a painfully cold surge that made her shout a stuttering, ‘Oh, God!’ When she didn’t think it could get any worse, it did. The turbulent waters formed waves of bursting spray. Not only did the evil-smelling liquid splash into her eyes, it hit the exposed light bulbs. For a moment her eyes alighted on one as droplets struck the hot glass. They sizzled off in steaming spits of white. Then a larger splash soaked the bulb. It popped. Instantly it was gloomier. Yet the shadows from the remaining bulbs were no less frenzied. A monstered version of her cavorted across the walls. When she raised her arms at either side of her head to balance herself. The shadow version of herself thrashed the air with its upper limbs.
‘Come on, damn you,’ she hissed to herself. ‘Get out of here. Get out …’
Spray burst as the mounds of water clashed. Droplets hit another bulb. It shattered with the sound of a gunshot. The third – and last – light bulb in this section of the cellar simply faded out with a sizzling sound. Now the only light came from the bulbs in the main part of the cellar. There, light was forced through the narrow archway in the brickwork in front of her. Apart from a strip of water five feet wide she could see nothing of this vault. For all she knew figures might be lifting their heads up from the surface to gloat over her misfortune.
As the current bore Josanne toward the next flooded section of cellar the lights there died in a blue flash as water invaded the light switch. Now she was plunged into total darkness. For a moment she froze there not daring to move. Objects carried on the tidal wave hit her in bruising impacts. A bone-aching cold tortured her from head to toe. Mushroom odours of fungus now forged a foul-smelling alliance with the stink of pond slime. The chimes continued. A vicious pulsing sound. The metallic noise disorientated her. Its ever mutating harmonics hurt her head.
Please … I want to see. Don’t let me drown here in the dark.
The darkness was absolute. When at last she lost her footing the water level had reached her shoulders.
Engine oil. Lubricants. Greased metal. The smell told her where she was before she opened her eyes. I’m in a garage, Belle told herself. But how did I come to lie in a garage? I’m in the house. I must be in bed with Adam. That’s it, I’m dreaming. I’m in The Tower …
The hum of an electric motor buzzing into life told her that’s where she wasn’t.
At last Belle managed to open her eyes. Her head ached like fury. When she blinked, her vision snapped into focus. She saw she lay on her back in a repair shop, an old one at that with whitewashed brick walls. The roof was unusually low. Then she saw why. The dark mass above her slowly descended. A glance to her side revealed everything. She lay beneath the heavy duty wheel runners of a car hoist. The electric motor lowered it toward her. The dark mass was the underside of a car. The chassis, with the rusty exhaust pipe running from fore to aft, filled her area of vision. Another five seconds and it would come down on her.
So why am I lying here?
Then she saw something else to freeze her nervous system. She gagged. A timber cross member lashed so it ran from one wheel runner to the other lay directly above her chest. Extending downward from it was a steep spike. The point had been filed to a silvery sharpness. The shaft, however, had been smeared with some sticky brown substance. In a second she identified it. Blood. She could see it clearly. God damn, she could even smell it. This time instinct kicked in fast. She realized she was lying on a wooden table. By now the steel point was no more than two feet above her chest. Another three seconds and it would nail her by the ribs to the table top. She rolled sideways.
‘No!’ The guy lunged from the shadows. In a split second she took in the wild mane of hair, the dishevelled clothes, the moon-shaped scar on his forehead. Same guy who knocked me cold in the corridor. The same guy who murdered me in my nightmare. He flung himself on her. Belle smelt his musty body odour. More animal than man – this creature lived in a lair rather than a home.
As he used his own body weight to force her against the table he squealed, ‘No! You’ve got to lie flat. It won’t work if you don’t lie flat!’
Belle glanced at the descending spike. ‘OK! But you’re staying here with me!’ She threw her own arms around him in a desperate hug that held his upper body over her own. Grunting, he looked back over his shoulder. The first solid object that steel point would hit was right between his own shoulder blades. He tore himself free of her. At the same time Belle rolled off in the other direction. She should have been quicker. The guy grabbed her wrist then began to drag her back on to the table from his side.
Come on, she raged at herself. You have five brothers. They only started to respect you when you were big enough to dish out the black eyes. Now isn’t the time to be dainty.
He gripped her wrist in his two hands as he brutally hauled her so she’d be under the descending spike. But she still had one arm free. Hauling in every atom of strength she balled her fist then punched as hard as she could. Her fist smacked into the centre of the mottled face. With utter satisfaction she felt the pug nose flatten under her knuckles. He grunted, flinched, but didn’t quit holding her. By the time she withdrew her fist from his face he was having to duck down to avoid the steel work descending from above him. Blood trickled from one of his nostrils to mat the stubble on his upper lip. Although his grip remained firm his eyes had dulled. He was no longer thinking straight, or even thinking it was high time to get clear of the descending hoist. Stupidly he hung on.
OK, grip me nice and tight, Belle thought, as the steel point homed in on the crook of her elbow as her arm stretched out across the table top. At the last second she dragged backward so hard her vertebrae made popping sounds. A pain speared through the muscles in her armpit. She didn’t stop pulling. It caught the guy by surprise. She shifted the position of his arm before he knew what she’d done.
The metal point, driven by the vehicle’s weight from above, found its fulcrum in the back of his hand. Both Belle and her attacker watched the steel point with horrorstruck fascination as it bore down, depressing the flesh, wrinkling the surrounding skin then – pop! The steel shaft slipped effortlessly through the man’s hand to pin it to the table top. At last, the hoist’s motor began to make a whine of protest when it couldn’t lower the spike any further.
Belle backed away. The steel wheel runners of the hoist had stopped three feet above the table top. The spike didn’t bend. But it had the guy nailed down good and hard by the hand. Cries of pain and disbelief began to spurt from his throat.
A grin reached Belle’s face. A wild, exultant grin. ‘I dreamt all this,’ she told the guy as blood poured from his hand to drench the tabletop. ‘I dreamt you killed me. But I’ve busted the hex, because I haven’t heard the chimes. And I’ve spiked you! Boy, I can’t wait until I tell the others.’ She stabbed her finger at him to the rhythm of what she said next. ‘You … are … in … big … trouble.’
Then she found the exit. A moment later she was running back through the darkness toward The Tower.
Josanne heard chimes. She heard the inrush of water too. A violent roaring that punched her ears. But she saw nothing. All she could do was tread water there in the darkness. A couple of times she tried to find the floor so she could stand. But it had gone. There was only the swirl of ice-cold liquid beneath her bare feet now.
At the same moment Belle ran from the garage to the house with triumph blazing inside her a blind panic surged through Josanne. The cold numbed her limbs. She could hardly breathe. The water must be over six feet deep now. It surged through the cellar in a turbulent mass. Already Josanne could feel the strength running out of her. She twisted in the water trying to catch a glimmer of light. Oh, God, I can’t even be sure in which direction the stairs out of here are. I can’t see a thing.
A second later, the top of Josanne’s head buffeted against something hard. As she kept herself afloat she reached up. Just level with the top of her head her fingertips encountered the vaulted ceiling. She was trapped in an air pocket formed by one of the arches.
‘You’re going to drown …’ she gasped. ‘if you don’t do something to save yourself. Come on, do it. Do it!’
Josanne forced herself to concentrate on the direction of the water’s current. If the water surged out from the shattered pipes then it must flow in the direction of the stairs that led up to ground level. What I must do is move with its flow. Only to do that meant swimming underwater. The cold liquid touched her lips. No prevarication, do it! She lifted her face up until her nose pressed against the ceiling. The air gap had shrunk to no more than two inches. With a desperate gasp she emptied her lungs as forcefully as she could to expel as much carbon dioxide as possible then inhaled deeply to fill them with air. As soon as she closed her mouth with the air locked inside her chest she kicked herself down through the water. Even though she was completely submerged she could hear the muted rumble of the flood blasting through the ruptured pipes. The chimes were as metallic as ever. A piercing sharpness; golden bells tied round the necks of sacrificial victims when they’re hurled into the maw of the volcano.
Icy currents tugged her through the subterranean chamber. She was a foetus in a womb of ice … no … a doomed astronaut cut adrift to tumble forever through the lightless void between the stars. Josanne’s mind became disconnected from her body. She could imagine herself as a feather floating on the night air, not a pallid pyjama-clad figure clawing her way beneath six feet of water, where the flying suits of dead aircrew swirled beside her. She imagined Kym’s white face ghosting through the water toward her. Dull eyes stared from their sockets. Josanne, come join me. Death is such a lonely place. Stop swimming, Josanne. Let out the air. It’ll be quick. It won’t hurt. I promise …
Josanne’s chest did hurt. Her lungs had become two molten sacs inside her ribs. God, she needed to breathe. The pressure grew inside of her. Air spurted from her lips. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. I’ve got to breathe. I need to breathe. I must have air … The chimes grew louder. The rhythm became faster. In The Good Heart the metal chime vibrated with triumph. It created a sustain of pure sound that rose in pitch and in volume. The note ascended into a sustained scream. A cry of exultation that her oxygenstarved brain could visualize as well as hear. She saw the sound as a beam of light that seared through the water, venting blue sparks that were so bright she couldn’t bear to look at them.
Meanwhile, the ghost of Kym reached out deathly pale arms toward her. It’s all right, Josanne. You’re nearly through it now. Just open your mouth …
The arms darted through the water. Hands seized her. Soon she wouldn’t be able to bear the agony any more. Then with her head still underwater she’d open her mouth to receive this filthy, stagnant jism of the house.
‘Josanne? Josanne.’ A hand gripped her jaw to hold her head up. ‘Josanne, are you all right?’
The world of light resolved itself into steps that led up to an open doorway. Water swirled behind her but it wasn’t as fierce now. The chimes had stopped, thank God. Another hand brushed the matted hair from her eyes. With a gratitude that melted her inside she inhaled. Cool air soothed her burning throat.
Marko stood behind Fisher as he angled a flashlight to illuminate the few steps that hadn’t been engulfed by floodwater.
With her brain still swimmy due to oxygen deprivation, she murmured, ‘Fisher. You’re pulling me out of the water. How … how, very, very apt.’
Neither Marko nor Fisher commented on what to her seemed such witty words. Their concerned expressions said it all. What words they used were terse, such as ‘Get her clear of the water.’ ‘She’s cold as ice. She’ll be suffering from exposure.’ ‘Watch her head as I lift her clear.’ ‘Now, go back before the water gets any higher.’
Her body was numb. Reality had retreated to a place far, far away. And no chimes. She was so grateful for that. The peace was exquisite. Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. When she closed them she didn’t even realize Fisher was carrying her up the steps and back into the body of the house.
As Fisher bore the limp, dripping form of Josanne out of the cellar Belle raced back to the house. It appeared to gaze broodingly down at her. A cold, hard mass of multiple hatreds. Its shell was suffused with disapproval, antipathy. The timbers oozed hostility. The very air it contained was stained with contempt for anything human. Belle sensed the evil spirit of the house as she picked her way, barefoot, across the driveway. Even so, she still felt the heat of her triumph over the madman. He was neatly pinned by the steel rod to the table top. Good, let the bastard squirm in agony for a while. She’d take her time telling the others what had happened to her before leading them down to the garage to view her captive. Besides, Belle was sure he knew what had happened to Kym. If he was hurting badly enough he might be inclined to indulge in confessional talk.
‘Suffer, you bastard,’ she hissed as she pushed open the door of the
house. The lights in the corridor were lit, but not those in the entrance hall. The staircase curved way up into the darkness of the tower itself. She’d go wake Adam then rouse the rest of them. A madman nailed by the hand to a table was something they had to see. She’d beaten him. And she’d beaten the hex.
‘What do you say to that, House?’ Her voice rose as she tossed her head. ‘I’ve beaten your curse, you pile of crap. I’ve outwitted you!’ She gave a grim laugh. ‘So, go on do your worst. You can’t get the better of us.’
As she crossed the entrance hall toward the corridor she noticed that the doors to The Good Heart were open. Lights played on the walls as if someone had decided to view it by flashlight. It might be Fabian or one of the others. They were sick to death of the bloody chimes. Probably someone had been woken by the damn things so they’d decided to put paid to that clock once and for all. Well, if there was someone here they’d be the first to hear about her adventure.
Belle stepped through the doorway into The Promenade that lead to The Good Heart. There, diffuse patches of light skated across the stone face of the medieval façade. She made out the little deepset windows and the stunted doorway that appeared as if it had been designed for the local hobgoblin population, not men and women.
A rush of air blasted against her; it rippled her silk nightdress; her hair fluttered. Belle turned as the doors slammed shut behind her. How the hell had that happened? She stepped back to the door. Tried the handle. It wouldn’t shift. Surely no one had locked her in here. The wind must have blown the door shut.
‘Damn you,’ she hissed. For some reason she felt a reluctance to glance back. There had been something unearthly about the way those patches of light skated across the ancient building within a building. Not so much lights playing on stonework but a witch fire pulsing outward through its walls. ‘Come on. Open.’ she whispered, as she pushed at the door. Changing tack, she pulled as she twisted the handle. ‘Stupid door. Stupid house. Evil bloody house. I hate you.’ She tugged harder. The thing didn’t even rattle. The handle might as well have been welded into the same position.
She slammed her hand against the wooden panel. ‘Adam!’ Even louder she shouted, ‘Hello! Anyone! Can anyone hear me!’ The echoes slowly faded, before swelling in volume to rush at her in a distorted cry.
‘Crazy house. Even the echoes are all wrong.’
Belle gripped the handle again. This time it turned smoothly with only the slightest effort on her part. ‘Hmm. At last.’ Belle pulled open the door.
He stood there. The same wild nest of hair. The moon-shaped scar of grey skin on his forehead.
As her heart lurched, the chimes started. This time they were eager. The metallic clanging thrust from the air to burrow deep through her ears into her head. The chimes pulsed in triumph. A shimmering celebration in sound. As the chimes rang from the walls the man stepped forward. He’d wrapped his right hand in a filthy rag. Now it glistened red with blood. In his left hand he held a knife.
Without a sound he plunged the blade into her chest. As Belle slumped she heard the vicious clamouring of chimes. A victorious peal of metallic laughter. They hadn’t sounded in the garage, because she’d not meant to meet her death there. This was the place where the house intended she’d die.
‘But I don’t want to die,’ she murmured, as she lay on the floor in an ever expanding tide of blood. ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want …’