LITMIR.BIZ

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Why did they keep coming back and seeking this creature’s approval? What did it ever get them?

      “I’ll be in the van,” she declared, moving back into the sunlight that streamed through the door.

      Before she even set foot on the porch, Jezza was behind her. He seized hold of her wrist and spun her around. Grabbing the back of her hair, he pulled her face to his and kissed her roughly on the mouth.

      Shiela struggled and kicked him on the shin.

      “Sod off!” she spat.

      “Don’t go yet,” he said, releasing her. “Come on, there’s more to see. Let’s me and you explore on our own. Come on, girl.”

      She blinked at him in surprise. He hadn’t kissed her like that for a long time.

      “Tommo, Miller!” he ordered, “You two go look through the rest of these rooms down here.”

      The men glanced at each other uncertainly. Neither of them wanted to be there any more.

      Jezza turned the full power of his stare on them. “Only this floor mind,” he warned. “No one, but no one, is to go upstairs. Do you hear me?”

      “I wouldn’t if you paid me,” Miller muttered.

      “Be about it then, rabbits,” Jezza said with a nod towards the other rooms.

      With a cautious look at Shiela to make sure she was OK, they made for one of the other doors leading off the hall. If they had rechecked the first one, they would have seen that the red leather of the armchair was now no longer covered in mould.

      “Just you and me, kid,” Jezza said, smiling at Shiela.

      The girl was wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “What have you been eating?” she asked, spitting on the floor. “Tastes like… soil or something. Have a mint!”

      “I’m just an earthy guy,” he said and there was that wink again. Then he surprised her a second time by taking hold of her hand, only gently, far more gently and tenderly than he had ever been. “This way,” he said, leading her further into the hall.

      “I don’t want to be in here,” she protested. “I want to sit in the van. I’ll wait there.”

      But he was so insistent, his voice so coaxing and persuasive, that, before she realised, they were standing before a door in the panelling beneath the stairs. With a flourish, Jezza yanked it open.

      It was pitch-black inside and a waft of cold, dead air flowed across Shiela’s face.

      “What’s in there?” she asked, backing away.

      “Cellar,” he replied.

      “There’s no chance in hell I’m going down there! Even if we’d brought torches I wouldn’t.”

      Jezza reached into the darkness and caught hold of a Bakelite switch dangling on a corded flex from the sloping ceiling. An instant later a dim bulb illuminated a flight of steps leading downward.

      “How did you know that was there?” she asked. “How come the power’s still on?”

      Jezza was already descending. There was a strange, barely contained excitement in him. It was as if he knew what was down there, as if he knew exactly what was waiting.

      “It’ll be swarming with rats!” she said. “I’m not coming with you.”

      He looked back at her – his eyes shining like an owl’s in the light.

      “There’s no rats down here,” he assured her with consummate confidence. “They’re not allowed.”

      Shiela watched his figure bob further down the steps. “Come back!” she called. “Jezza!”

      He disappeared round a corner and she wished she’d kicked him harder.

      “Jezza…?” she shouted.

      She was alone. “Tommo, Miller…” she said, but her voice faltered and wherever they were they did not hear her.

      Shiela looked anxiously at the open front door. The sunlight had dimmed and the outside seemed grey. A wind was shaking the trees.

      “Save me, save me,” she whispered urgently. Everything appeared threatening. Shiela thought of the magazine and what had happened to the boy it had belonged to all those years ago. Suddenly a gust of wind banged the front door against the wall. It bounced back and slammed shut. The hall was plunged into darkness.

      The girl yelled and flung herself down the stairs.

      “Jezza!” she cried. “Jezza!”

      She leaped down two steps at a time and whirled around breathlessly. The cellar was built of vaulted grey stone that formed small, dungeon-like chambers, each with a single light bulb suspended from the apex of the ceiling.

      The first chamber was empty, but a draught was moving the hanging light and the shadows swung sickeningly around her.

      “Jezza…” she called again. “Damn – what the hell am I doing down here? You need your brains testing, you crazy—”

      She couldn’t find a word dumb enough to describe herself. She shivered, but noticed that although it was cold down here, it was the only place in that awful house that was not damp.

      “Jezza!”

      No answer. She moved warily across the chamber to the next archway. That too was empty, except for strange drawings chalked on the walls, but this was not childish graffiti like the scribbles above. Here were intricate geometric patterns, interlocking circles and squares, surrounded by florid lettering spelling out Latin words. Shiela stared at them and her skin crawled. She had seen Howie, another of Jezza’s disciples, tattoo similar pentacles on the backs of many heavy-metal fans and wallowing emos.

      “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jezza spoke in her ear.

      The girl flinched and hit him. “Take me to the van right now!” she demanded.

      “Wait till you see this,” he said, leading her to the next chamber.

      “I’ve seen enough!” she replied, tugging away from him.

      “No, just this,” he said firmly. “Come on, girl.”

      They passed into the third chamber. It was larger than the previous two. Three wide, concentric circles had been inscribed into the stone floor, in the centre of which were six large wooden crates.

      “What’s them?” she asked.

      “The jackpot, girl. Only the ruddy jackpot.”

      “But what’s inside?”

      With a triumphant laugh, he leaped into the circles. A rusty crowbar was lying across the top of one crate and he grasped it with both hands.

      “Let’s open them and find out!” he yelled.

      “No,” Shiela objected. “Leave it. There could be anything in there. Jezza, leave it!”

      The man took no notice and was busily prising off one of the lids. The old nails squeaked and the wood splintered. Shiela looked around and cursed herself for ever suggesting they come here.

      “Bobby Runecliffe!” she blurted, edging away. “That was the name of the boy. He was famous, all over the news back then. My mum knew him. They were in the same class. Bobby disappeared one night when he was thirteen. He was missing for three days. They finally found him wandering out on the motorway, but he was different – mental. He couldn’t speak. When they took him home, he killed all his pets, strangled them. Then he tried to do the same to his kid sister. He’s been locked up ever since. Nobody knew where he’d been, but it must have been here. Oh, God, it was here and it drove him crazy. Jezza – don’t open that! Please!”

      He only laughed in answer as the final nail was torn free and he wrenched the lid clear.

      Shiela

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