Heathen/Nemesis

Eighty-Nine

The flight of stone steps seemed to stretch away into the subterranean shadows. The bottom of the staircase was barely visible. Only the merest hint of sickly yellow light seeped upwards, barely penetrating the umbra.

Donna moved cautiously down the first few steps, glancing back to make sure Julie was following. She was, her face pale and drawn, ghost-like in the darkness.

She heard breathing, as she’d heard before.

This time it seemed louder, more pronounced, as if some invisible phantom were treading the steps with her. Donna swallowed hard, gripped the .357 more tightly and continued to descend.

The staircase was narrow. More than once she was forced to brush against the wall.

She shuddered with revulsion as she felt the cold stone pulsing. Like a gigantic brick heart it pumped against her. Even beneath her feet she felt a rhythmic movement.

She closed her eyes for a second, still not convinced it wasn’t her mind playing tricks.

If only it had been.

Behind her Julie was looking down at her feet, being careful not to slip on the narrow steps. She too felt the thudding. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the chill in the basement.

They were halfway down the stairs now, within sight of the bottom. Donna saw that it was a hallway similar to the one upstairs. Instead of being lit by chandeliers, however, this one was illuminated by the dull glow of three candles. Halos of subdued light flared from the small flames that flickered and threatened to blow out.

The breathing continued, but Donna was aware her own laboured exhalations were now adding to the sound that filled her ears.

In the silent blackness it seemed deafening.

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Julie looked round to check that no one had slipped through the door behind them, but it was so dark on the steps it was difficult to see anything at all. She stared at the sea of shadow, trying to spot any deviation in a wall of gloom, as if part of that false night might at any second detach itself.

She saw nothing.

Donna stood motionless, surveying the basement area.

The two women stood in an area roughly twelve feet square. Behind them was the staircase. To the right and left were solid walls; straight ahead, they faced three doors. Beside each stood a candle, helping to light the underground chamber.

Which door first?

She listened, trying to hear over the insistent breathing.

Christ, it was getting louder.

If Dashwood had been right about inanimate objects being given life, then they must be at the very centre of the house. It was, she imagined, like walking around inside a huge chest cavity. The infernal pulsing continued, too. Donna thought she could see undulations in the very umbra itself.

She felt perspiration on her palms, the metal and wood of the gun against her flesh. She shifted it to the other hand and wiped her palm on her jeans. She repeated the action with the other hand.

Which door?

She could hear no sound behind any of them. Could the basement also deserted, she wondered? But they had seen the smartly dressed man come down here. There was no other way out but through these three doors.

But which one?

She took a tentative step towards the one on the left, her eyes fixed on it.

The flame of the candle closest wavered, as if disturbed by a breeze. For a second it sputtered but then it flared again. A plume of black smoke rose into the darkness and was absorbed by it.

Donna took a step closer.

Behind her Julie watched, then advanced cautiously, her eyes darting back and forth between the three doors.

Donna was within two feet of the left-hand door.

It was then that the middle door opened.

Light and sound suddenly flooded into the darkened hallway. The figure silhouetted against the sudden explosion of brightness stood motionless, looking first at Julie, then at Donna.

His surprise lasted only seconds.

Peter Farrell reached for his gun.