Pinprick (16 page)

A flashback burned its comet trail across his mind and illuminated more truths lost in the darkness between the stars.

“Jesus! What the hell is that fucking smell?” he called out slapping a hand across his nose and mouth. His eyes began to stream. He could hear moaning coming from the bottom of the steps. It didn’t sound like anything human, just a deep baritone sound. He walked down the last few steps carefully, hindered by his blurred vision. It must be a chemical leak or something. The odour clung to him; it was disgusting, the sickly sweet smell of spoilt meat. Shane reluctantly stepped off the last step and onto the floor, which to his surprise, was cobble-stoned. Who the hell has cobblestones in the cellar? He considered this as he raised his head to take in his surroundings. Wherever he was, it was no cellar…

His head hurt and he wanted desperately to be able to see. As the soft tones of Morgan’s voice continued, the black egg that held his forgotten past cracked wide open spewing forth the sumptuous purple yolk contained within.

“The elderly head of the family took his sons and grandsons down into the cavern. They entered a smaller cavern which was lit with an unearthly glow. Purple-flamed torches burned in holders on walls and there was a strange noise and vile smell about the place, of something long dead…”

The room was like a medieval dungeon. The whole area was covered in cobblestones. The walls were black and green with damp and mildew and looked like the foundations of a castle. Around the outside of the room ancient wooden torches burned, the only source of light. For some reason unknown to Shane the flames gave off a purple glow that illuminated his friends’ faces. They stood with their hands over their mouths and stared in the same direction. Shane followed their gaze. In the centre of the room was a giant hole. It appeared to be a giant well; a crumbling wall of about two feet circled it. More purple torches were slotted into holders on the wall. On the far side of it he could see narrow steps spiralling down into its depths.

All the while Morgan’s voice continued, “No sooner had he noticed these mysterious things than the old man recoiled in horror. His sons and grandsons started throwing themselves into the giant black hole in the middle of the cavern. No matter how hard he tried to pull them away they were drawn to the dark abyss like moths to a flame…”

The stench seemed to be coming from the hole. It clung to them, making their stomachs lurch but at the same time feeding a morbid curiosity. It fuelled their urge to look down to discover the source of the decay.

Freddy, ever the daredevil, moved towards the steps at the lip of the hole.

“I’m going to see what’s making that smell. Might be a dead body!”

Malcolm and the others felt an equal sense of foreboding, as well as probing inquisition.

The other four boys watched as Freddy peered over the edge. And all gasped in unison as he went over the side without a sound.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, one second Freddy looked over the edge and almost instantaneously he was gone. Malcolm and Johnny cried out in shock but Karl and Shane just stood dumbfounded. It looked as though Freddy had willingly dived over the side. Johnny and Malcolm rushed to the edge, Malcolm reaching the wall first. He gazed down helplessly for a second, and then just as instantly as Freddy did, he too pitched himself over the side. Johnny acted quickly and grabbed hold of Malcolm’s jacket and yanked him back. Malcolm spun round, with a look of rage and hatred on his face and punched Johnny hard on the nose. Johnny swore and doubled over. Malcolm turned back towards the hole. Karl and Shane snapped out of their stupor and moved towards Malcolm. Johnny reached out again for Malcolm’s jacket but was too late. His fingertips brushed the brown leather as he landed heavily against the wall. Malcolm dived into the abyss.

As he stared into the dark black gulf he was overcome by the urge to throw himself over too. Try as he might to resist it, he couldn’t. All he cared about, all that mattered was throwing himself over the edge.

Johnny stealthily rested one leg on top of the wall, all the time watching Karl and Shane’s actions.

Shane was frozen; it was too much to take in; two of his friends gone in an instant. Karl was frightened and crying like a baby.

He snapped out of his trance-like state and put an arm on Karl’s just in time to see Johnny slip over the wall, a strange grin spread across his face. It was too much for Karl who screamed and ran immediately to the edge. Shane was determined not to let Karl give in to whatever the hell had made the other three jump. It must be some sort of noxious gas or something. He grabbed hold of Karl’s arm and gripped it tight. Karl turned to Shane, his face straining with concentration, eyes red-rimmed and full of sorrow and fear.

“Fight it Karl, you’ve got to,” Shane said, trying to shout over the moaning noise that came from below and pull him away from the edge. Even though it took every bit of energy he had, Karl blurted out through gritted teeth, “Sorry.”

Karl picked Shane up like a heavyweight wrestler. For a moment Shane thought he was going to be thrown over the side.

He was petrified as Karl held him above his head but as he gazed into the pit he wanted nothing more than to dive into its inviting chasm. But Karl had other ideas. He spun around and threw him as far away from the edge as possible. Shane landed hard on the cobblestoned floor, one of his elbows crunched on impact. He rolled over onto his back shrieking in pain which turned to distress when he realised he was the only one left.

The pain from his bust arm subdued the urge to throw himself into the pit. His pain mixed with his fear and became an antidote. He hurried away from the strange pit as quickly as he could, his hurt arm useless.

Shane screamed for help as he ran through the House of Oddities. His heart beat like a snare drum in his chest. Once he was outside he bent over double gasping for breath with the torrential rain beating on his back.

He gagged and puked over the pavement. His choking sound masked the sound of the footsteps splashing towards him. He snapped his head up when a shadow blotted out the street light.

A figure pointing a shotgun towered over him. Shane could make out the person’s wellington boots, dark trousers and raincoat. He wore a flat cap that cast his face into darkness.

“Colbert’s lad aren’t you?” said the ominous figure. Shane recognised the voice of Frank Dury, the farmer and drinking buddy of his father’s. Momentarily relieved to hear a familiar voice he calmed down slightly and caught his breath.

“What’s wrong boy? What have you seen?” Frank Dury asked, only slightly louder than the wind and rain. He thrust his gun forward and jabbed him in the ribs.

Shane backed away from the sudden aggressive outburst but thought Dury was upset because he suspected him of vandalism or burglary.

“My friends, they’re all gone. They jumped down a massive hole!”

“This is for your own good boy!” Then he raised his gun and aimed it at Shane.

When he realised what was about to happen, he ran as fast as he could, expecting to feel himself be blown to pieces at any second. He splashed and ran through the rain along the dark silent road. It wasn’t long before he heard a vehicle approaching him from behind. He stopped shortly and turned in the centre of the road, hoping to flag the car down for a lift. As soon as he saw the set of headlights and the extra set on the roof he realised it was Dury’s Range Rover.

“Shit.” He ran with increased vigour towards the first row of houses in the village. The rain lashed at his face and made it hard for him to see clearly. He could make out the dim glow of the first house’s porch light. Shane bolted across the road and almost made it to the curb before the left hand corner of the car’s bumper caught him side on. The force flipped him up and over the side of the car and he landed head first on the concrete…

Finally, everything was clear to him. He wanted to be alone, to mull it all over and decide what to do. Dury had tried to murder him and some kind of chemical leak on his property had caused his friends to commit suicide.

Still, Morgan chatted away with no idea he wasn’t really listening to her.

“He forbade anyone from going near the place and told them all he could remember but he was an ill man. After he had seen the pit he suffered with intense headaches and a high-pitched ringing in his head. All he dreamt about was the pit, and he cursed himself for letting his sons and grandsons explore the underground cavern. He obsessed about the place for his last remaining years and in the end curiosity got the better of him and he went down to the pit. His remaining family tried to stop him but he was determined to go down.

“When he went to the pit he was followed by one of his daughters and she saw him standing by the hole looking confused. He told her that as soon as he gazed down a tiny light sparked on and in an instant the pain and ringing in his head stopped. The urge to jump in left him and the strange noise that the pit emitted had ceased. However, he bid his daughter farewell and started down the cold stone steps. Within a few days the pit had returned back to its abnormal self. It took three more lives before the family got wise to it.”

Shane didn’t know what to say. It was crazy and yet the more he was forced to hear, the more he wanted to know. He was usually a rational man so if there was any truth to it at all… he had to understand what was going on.

“Who built it and what is it for? It doesn’t make sense!”

Morgan laughed a little, “We stopped trying to understand that generations ago. There’s no need for answers, it just is. My father believes it’s been here forever and somehow over the millennia people have just built on it.”

“But how, if it makes anyone who goes there commit suicide?”

“Ah, well, I think it was my forefather of twelve generations ago, John Dury, who discovered that if you couldn’t see it, it had no power over you. He discovered this when he realized that animals were perceptive of the pit.

“Early one morning his flock of sheep found their way down into the cavern and he lost almost every one of them. All apart from one that had been blinded. So, he experimented on himself. He bound his eyes and faced the pit. Nothing happened, the stench and the sound were still there but the urge wasn’t. He then took one of his slaves down there, both of them blindfolded. He restrained the slave and removed his blindfold. The slave went mad and tried his best to break free but he couldn’t. He convulsed and after a few minutes he stopped moving. John thought he had died but he had only passed out. When he came round John had freed him from the restraints. The slave had no desire to throw himself in. He tested this on several people before himself. If they were strong enough they could outwait the urge to jump.”

Was this ludicrous tale, which somehow matched the unveiled scenes in his head to be believed?

Had he not had vivid dreams about murdering each of them and fathering the child that Daria thought was Johnny’s? Was that why she jumped, because she couldn’t live with the guilt? What was true? He had no way of interpreting the facts from the fiction in his screwed up head. He was certain he’d never even seen Daria’s bedroom let alone made love to her beneath David Bowie and
Star Trek
posters. But in the same light, if something could wipe out the loss of four lives from his memory why not a bout of casual sex? What could he trust? Who could he trust? There was only one way to see if it was true and that meant taking the blindfold off.

“Why did you have your eyelids sewn up? Why not just wear a blindfold?”

“Shane, you’ve heard my story, you’ve heard the tale of The Whistler and The Pit. Do you really think, seeing the alluring nature of this phenomenon, that I could resist the urge to see it for myself? If you had spent your entire life being told, being trained, about your ancestry and this dark wonderful secret they have kept, literally below your feet; wouldn’t you be tempted just to take a peek to see if it was true?

“I had a brother, William, who was two year’s my senior. This,” she indicated her eyes, “would have been his job but he let curiosity and lack of faith get the better of him. For years as children we would stare at the little padlocked door in the cellar, learning the legend inside out, but he was too sceptical of my father’s tales and one day stole the key off him when he was asleep.”

Shane heard her sniffle and wondered if the tears stung her stitches.

“William was never seen again but we knew what had happened. My father and I went down the cellar and saw the little door wide open and the purple glow from far away. It was enough for us both to believe. My father had never opened that door all his life. His faith was strong and he knew that this place existed so he took precautions and made sure the same mistake wouldn’t happen.”

“Why not just seal the fucking thing up?” Shane whispered.

“Because,” Morgan said quietly, “my uncle Richard was careless and was equally as sceptical as my brother. That was the reason you and your friends were able to find it, you see? But you started a chain of events that went on for too long Shane. The Pit is like a sink hole at the heart of the village. Oh it’s fine and everything around it is as should be but once it is blocked, once somebody witnesses its existence and lives to tell the tale, things start to deteriorate.”