Page 25 of Haunt

She doesn’t speak and neither do I, but I hear the sound of chains again, wishing they would shut the fuck up, and her eyes fly open, panicked.

“Shhh,”I hush, drawing her in closer to my chest, her arms pinned at her sides by my crushing lock around the back of her shoulder blades.

She stares up at me, waiting for something,everything. I give her nothing.

“Come with me,” I whisper, “I’ve got you.”

It’s an omen.

An old water well transformed into a macabre entrance to Hell.

Narrow stairs curl around the inside of it, down and down and down, further and further into the black abyss below. Billy holds my hand at his back as we descend, him first, me behind. My tiny feet struggle with the small stepping-stone type stairs that are no more than bricks poking out from the walls. He descends into the black like he has done so one hundred times before, despite telling me as we began heading down that he has only ever been here once in his life. And he did not use this particular entrance when he did.

I swallow hard again as my foot slips, losing my balance, causing me to stumble into his back, I gasp sharply, my lungs burning with the cold air, but Billy doesn’t wobble. He is the epitome of stability, catching me against his back, his fingers tightening through mine.

I’m sure that doesn’t help. Having to navigate the pitch with a hand pulled behind your back, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t try to make me let go. If anything, it feels as though he holds me tighter.

Never let me go, Billy.

I squeeze my fingers around his, using my free hand, palm splaying over the top of his spine, I push myself to straighten, brush the clammy skin down the front of my dress.

“Okay?” he whispers, voice echoing around the narrow, tunnelling shaft.

“I’m okay, Billy,” I whisper back, my voice rolling around the damp brick walls.

That’s all I can smell, wet, musty iron. The warm air down here is humid but cool. Something putrid smelling sticks in the hair of my nostrils, the back of my throat. I try to swallow it away, my mouth too dry, making me want to gag. It creeps colder as we inch our way down. The hair on my arms raising, goosebumps prickling along the nape of my neck, when I hear it again.

Chains.

Rattling, clinking, it’s unmistakable now, I flinch, but I do not stop walking. Billy does nothing to react, and I try to keep my gaze on the back of his head. Focus more on the words he whispered to me before,‘I’ve got you’,than what is below our descending feet.

I feel like we’ve travelled to another dimension entirely as Billy’s boots finally make contact with the bottom of the well. The moon above us not penetrating the pure blackness of the space at all. He turns to look at me, just two steps up, my feet having stopped moving. I dart my eyes around, nothing but glistening black brick in the dark, the smell stronger this far down, it makes my stomach roll, but nothing comes of it.

“I’ve got you,” he says lowly, my gaze snapping back to his.

His shining blue eyes remind me of a demon’s in the dark. And this far down, closer to the core of the earth, where hellfire houses The Devil, it’s believable.

“Billy,” I whisper again, unmoving, my breath held, he shakes his head, just once, and reluctantly, I take the last steps down to meet him.

I lick my lips, dry and stinging, stare up into his light eyes. Silently, he takes my hand, and turns away from me, walking forward into the darkness, but I don’t move. Body trembling, feet cemented to the floor. He looks back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Come, Little Lamb,” he summons, and my feet move before my brain can register.

Always submissive, always following.

Lovesick.

A tunnel appears through the cloak of darkness, swallowing us as he leads us down it. Boots heavy, their collective echo ricocheting down the length of the walkway. We walk side by side, hand in hand, as we weave around a curve in the bricked passageway, a glow of light illuminating the path ahead. A sconce, high up on the wall, orange flickering candlelight spilling out from the top of it. The further we walk, following the snakelike pathway, the more light, sconces closer together, more candles clustered in each one.

And then the passageway is widening, opening up like the gaping maws of a hell beast. It is light beyond. Moisture seems to drip from the ceiling, I can hear it, like leaky pipes, the sound of it ominous. It makes me think of blood, slicking off of my outstretched fingers, dripping to the floor. All of the times it was my own, crimson running from me, my body, my injuries.

My sacrifice.

I squeeze Billy’s fingers, shoving it all down. Nails clawing into his palm, I pick at his skin, my eyes taking in the cavernous space.

We stop just inside the empty room. High ceilings, painted murals, I can’t make out, decorating them, alcoves and wooden beams carving across it all. Stained glass windows that can’t have ever seen the light of day, nothing but dirt on the other side of them. It’s as though we’re inside a cathedral that has sunken deep into the earth. Dragged down by Lucifer’s own fingers.

A round pool is the focal point, sitting deep in the centre. Pyres of black candles surround it. It is warm, the room, from their heat, their flames dancing shadows across the panelled walls. Incense is strong, but the scent of fresh roses is stronger. They’re everywhere. Occupying every flat surface, curling up all of the pillars and posts, free-standing candelabras.

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