Beyond the Blue Light Page 2

  She found her way to a back service staircase, one she barely recognized by the moonlight, and shifted lightly down the spiraling steps. It was compact and windowless, with the steepest of wooden stairs that made her feel dizzy. As she went, sadness, fear and uncertainty overwhelmed her. She’d no idea what she would do, where she would go, what she would eat or where she would lay her head. For all that her life had been a lonely one, she’d always known it lay within these walls. Her thoughts became a tangled mess. Fear and longing so consumed her that she no longer felt her feet thump down the steps, or the dusty wall beneath her fingertips. Hot tears streamed down her face, blurring her eyesight. She wished more than anything that she was journeying to find her parents, or some long-lost loved-one to care for her.

  The precarious steps took her down about two floors. She was now, she guessed, in some out-of-the-way part of the house. Her surroundings were foreign, especially in the thick blackness of the night. Strange, unrecognizable molding decorated the walls with even stranger creatures engraved into it. They were accented with gold that shimmered faintly by the dim moonlight. There were many curiosities about - mounted animal heads and strange, frightening, dead things displayed beneath glass. They were piled along the walls, forgotten by some former generation and covered with intermittent dust. She wondered if Uncle Morton was even aware of this part of the house, or the state of it. Mrs. Ackworth must be truly incompetent as a housekeeper to allow such a mess. But it wouldn’t do to think of that monster just now, here in dark places.

  With her hands as her only guide, she brushed walls and furniture, feeling through the dark like a blind man. Though the moon was out tonight, only the occasional bluish strip of light stole through thick curtains. She moved toward the back of the house, thinking it likely she could exit there unnoticed. Making her best guess for direction, she shuffled over rugs and felt around tables with sharp corners. But the more she wandered, the more lost she felt. Nothing was familiar, not even the wallpaper; and old items were piled everywhere. The hallways shifted in unpredictable directions.

  After some time of stumbling, she paused to think. She’d wandered aimlessly for too long. Surely, carrying on like this she would run into someone and awaken the whole house. Honestly, she was equally in danger of alarming herself. She could never tell what she saw out of the corner of her eyes. The hallway grew colder and the air more damp, as if a window was open nearby. And she realized, to her great dismay, that even the thin slivers of moonlight had vanished. She was now descended into complete black.

  Like a sudden draft creeping through an open door, coldness ran up her back. Turning, she caught her foot on an unseen box and fell to the ground with a heavy thump. She hit the ground hard, her hip throbbing from the impact.

  Looking around, she found she’d fallen through an open door into a set of odd rooms. They were large and indescribably strange. A silence fell over them, as if they’d gone long generations untouched. Though they looked somewhat like a library, they were less grand and appeared to have some sense of utility, though she couldn’t guess what; perhaps a printer’s office or a counting house. The walls were lined with dark bookcases that reached up to the ceiling and were packed full of ledgers and rolled up scrolls. Everything was disheveled, the tables and floors covered in paper, books and other miscellaneous items as if the place had been abandoned after a moment of extreme chaos or raided. But it had to have happened long ago, for every strip of paper was covered in a thick layer of dust.

  She stepped forward fearfully, her heels cracking in the silence of the room like she was disturbing the sacred silence of a grave. Bending down to pick up a discarded scroll, she brushed it off and found the ink faded. The paper was so ancient it nearly crumbled in her hand. Of the vanishing script, she could only make out a few dim verses.

  They who dwell beyond time

  Whose dominion doth stretch throughout all the Earth

  And the shaded realms betwixt the firmament and the abyss

  Kings upon stately thrones

  Wise in death, rich in destruction

  Mankind suffereth their will to be done

  In the mouths of empty vessels

  Beneath the text, a symbol was inscribed:

  She dropped the scroll, shocked, and studied the old portraits that lined the walls instead; finding they offered distraction from her sense of alarm. They contrasted strikingly with the rooms’ sense of utility. They were neglected, but grand and striking for all that, bordered with ornate golden frames. She could see little by the dim graying light that spilled in though the windows, but noticed that the paintings appeared to have been created in different ages. The figures were clothed in various periods of old-fashioned garb, some more recent and some very old indeed. Yet the faces all gazed out with the same hypnotic quality, watching as she tip-toed through their sanctuary. At first they made her uneasy, but as she studied them individually, she felt a strange affinity with them; perhaps due to their abandonment in this dark place. She pitied them, left here to be forgotten in the dark, with no loved ones or ancestors to look upon them fondly.

  Each seemed to grieve from within the frame, to call out so powerfully that she had to avert her eyes. But she couldn’t help herself. She studied them one by one. The first was a young man with brown hair, fair face and dark eyes. He stared thoughtfully into the distance and clasped a large scroll to his chest. The space surrounding was rendered so red that she couldn’t tell if it was meant to depict richly colored fabric or a river of blood.

  Next to him stood a portrait of a middle-aged man with a stiff collar that made him look like a member of Queen Elizabeth’s privy council. His light, ruddy complexion molded into a sanctimonious smirk - the corner of his mouth and the arch of his left brow made it known.

  Beyond him was the portrait of a beautiful woman, with features difficult to make out, except for her sad, light eyes. They stared wistfully from the frame, their gaze charged from somewhere deep within. Their look could hold anyone tightly in their grasp. Her clothing was difficult to date, for her long hair covered most of it. Her hands lay face up on her lap, and behind her a forested trail spiraled off into the distance. The more Annabelle stared at the portrait, the more the landscape seemed to pull her in, as if the leaves moved and the breeze blew against her face. She stood hypnotized for several moments, drawn into the sorrowful haze. With an effort, she shook it off, blinking hard to extricate herself.

  Below the painting, a small plaque was mounted. It read:

  Psychicae Mortem

  But as she turned, she was struck by the most stunning portrait of all. It pulled her with a formidable intensity, so strong it was jarring. Within this frame stood a figure, lit only dimly, for it hung on a wall shielded from the moon’s glow. She couldn’t make out the man’s features well, but in the dark his eyes stood out like a night predator’s. They drew her in, their pull potently mesmeric and strangely familiar. Could it be a portrait of some ancestor she’d seen elsewhere in the house? She tried to look away, but felt the image demanding her attention. A strangely chilling heat ran through her as she stood transfixed, like a dreamer trapped on the edge of sleep. A plaque was mounted beneath. Wiping the grime away with the side of her pale hand, she read the engraving aloud.

  Mors Sacralis

  She repeated it in a whisper, feeling dazed as the sound reflected back to her; and oddly, as if the words sucked the breath from her mouth. At it’s sound, the painting seemed to release her from it’s grasp, and she turned away. But her hands were still trembling, her whole body in fact; and it took several moments to regain her composure.

  She walked the room, examining the other portraits. None grasped her as the last had. But she noticed that each had a plaque just like it with it’s own unique inscription. As she was considering their meaning, a creaking sounded behind her, of weight shifting on a loose floorboard. She turned slowly round, feeling her heart quicken into her throat as she scanned the darkness with eyes splayed wide.
But she could discern nothing in the black, only piles of old junk and shadows.

  Attempting to disregard her fear, she studied the items along the walls, strange curiosities like the ones piled outside. But within a few breaths, she felt a strange hand grab at her wrist, and a thick-fingered, dusty hand cover her mouth. She fought feverishly as a metallic tinge grazed her tongue. A sharp male voice warned her to be still and quiet, but she did not heed. She was far too alarmed. She kicked, struggled and tried to bite the hand that held her; but it’s solid grip only tightened.

  “How came you to be here?” hissed the voice in a foreign lilt.

  She screamed in reply, which made a strange, muffled noise beneath the stranger’s grip. She kicked and elbowed as hard as she could, but couldn’t break loose. Then suddenly, an object was brought down hard on her head, and all went to black.

  ~

  She didn’t dare open her eyes, only moaned weakly on the edge of consciousness for some time. When she recalled what’d happened (for it took several moments) and realized it wasn’t her own bed she was laying in, her eyes shot open. She was in a small room. The walls were brownish-gray and rough, made of clay. Everything within was simply-made, filthy and lit by a single burning candle; like living quarters in an underground mine.

  She sat up carefully, finding herself lain on a small, ragged cot. Her senses reeled as she realized she was no longer in her uncle’s home. When she did, indignant questions ran through her mind. Who had brought her here? How had she been kidnapped from Orenn House without anyone seeing? And what on earth was she to do?

  The only door to this small room lay open, revealing a shapeless abyss beyond. She sat up on the edge of the cot, fearful that her captor may burst in, or be watching from the darkness beyond the door. But she tried not to think about it, and instead watched the flickering flame of the candle, listening intently for some telltale sign of her kidnapper’s return.

  But, several moments passed without anyone arriving, or any sound coming from the darkness beyond. There was no reason to stay. The man had been gone for a long time, which only increased the chance of him coming back soon. Waiting any longer could waste the only chance of escape she might ever get. So, she summoned bravery and pulled her cloak close against the chill, deciding to see what lay beyond the door. It couldn’t be too far to an exit. She was likely in a cellar or a basement, beyond which she could seek help.

  The rough floorboards creaked under her boots as she inched forward. She peered warily through the threshold of the door. Nothing but darkness peered back, so she pressed herself into it’s echoing cold. Beyond, no merciful light crept in from a window or door. Rather, the further she went, the more she was descended into all-encompassing black. She stumbled over warped floorboards, her fingers brushing filthy walls blackened by years of accumulated dust. She felt past cubbies and open chasms that led off in other directions, down other blackened corridors that frightened her with their emptiness. It may have been wise to bring the candle. But it would have announced her location to her kidnapper. No, she had done right to leave it behind. Moving in the dark seemed a safer way to evade recapture, although she’d had no idea this strange place could be so big.

  She turned corners in the dark, one after another, again and again. They were jagged and uneven, and no matter where she went, she glimpsed no sign of light. Every time she rounded a corner, she expected a window or a door to greet her, thinking it impossible that these strange corridors could stretch on any further than they already had. But each time, she was met only by darkness and more hallways. She was clearly lost.

  She kept wandering for an age, growing more anxious with each step. And then suddenly, a ghostly sound pulled her from her thoughts. She froze, straining in silence until she heard it again. Yes. There it was, crass Cockney voices echoing far down the corridor. She didn’t know who they belonged to, nor from which direction they were coming. They sounded nothing like her captor’s strange, foreign voice, more like drunken dock workers stumbling home with tongues lubricated from a generous helping of ale.

  And then it hit her. Perhaps, if she could follow them unseen, they would lead her out of this unnavigable maze. She’d no other promising options, save wandering alone in the dark. They certainly seemed distracted, and made enough noise to mask her own meager shuffling.

  Though their rough sounds repelled her, she must move closer. She felt like a newborn mole, learning to move underground without eyesight. She sought the men in several directions until their voices grew louder, tip-toeing blindly onward, feeling along unseen walls until she could make out words.

  Movement sounded down the corridor, footsteps and voices approaching fast from behind. New voices, their Cockney accents rough and their tones boorish; certainly not the kind of men she wanted to encounter alone in the dark. Their footfalls pounded hard, shaking the floors and walls.

  Panicking, her fingers clawed every surface, frantically searching for a hiding place, but nothing gave way. The walls splintered the sides of her hands and coated her skin with black dust. She was completely blind. She wondered if she could lean against the wall and let the men pass. But as they moved closer, trembling lights danced against the walls, revealing that they carried a lantern. There would be no hiding from it’s light. There were no indentations in the walls deep enough to hide in.

  She scrambled to find an unlocked door, moving further and further down the corridor in a frenzy. Finally, a doorknob turned, and she collapsed into deeper darkness, securing the door behind her as silently as possible.

  She listened intently as the men’s voices drew near, her muscles tensing as their heavy footfalls vibrated the door beneath her cheek. Thankfully, they passed by oblivious to her presence, and soon she was left with only the sound of her quick breaths as company. Her heart sang with relief, but the feeling faded fast, for she recalled that these men were her only way out, and she must follow. It was a good thing they clambered down the corridor like a herd of careless, drunken elephants.

  She followed them effortlessly, simultaneously drawn and repelled by their crass speech, tip-toeing as fast as she dared, holding her cloak close so it wouldn’t brush the walls or make any noise as she went. She tried not to think about the sorry state her cloak and dress must be in, they now being the only ones she possessed; and continued on deep into the dark maze of hallways, turning corners she could barely see, occasionally stumbling down steps that surprised her with their presence. After a time, the men’s voices grew louder, and she realized that they’d stopped moving; and so slowed her progress. The light of their lantern shone bright, and she perceived she’d come to an intersection of hallways. Around the corner, the group of men stood in conversation. She crept up to the edge like a mouse.

  “It’s just a business transaction,” said a tall figure with a deep voice. “Get the boy, and make sure e’s got what we need. And don’t take too bloody long either, eh?”

  The other men fell deathly silent at his words.

  “And make sure to use the bloody cart right this time,” the man continued. “If we lose any more stock its on your ‘eads.”

  The others mumbled submissive agreement then trod off into the distance. The man who’d spoken remained, along with a few others, who turned off in a different direction. She followed from a safe distance, stalking like a ghost. They trod on for so long, it felt she’d been walking for hours, turning corners and tiptoeing down steps. She tried not to think of her exhaustion, thirst, nor of the fearful magnitude of this dark place; only of escape, which would surely be coming soon.

  Before long, the air cooled and dampened. She took this as a sign that they were nearing an exit, and so continued yard after yard, scolding her aching limbs onward. But then suddenly, the party’s noise faded and completely died out. The sharp sound of footfalls on shifting wood ceased, leaving nothing but an echoing silence. And to her dismay, the lantern light blinked out. She was left alone in dark silence. She panicked, hoping the men hadn’
t been some sort of apparition to her concussed mind. Being left to her own devices in such a place, after such a lengthy and confusing journey into the depths of these halls, was unbearable to think of. How could she continue on after all this? How could she find her way? She held her breath, listening anxiously for the sounds of their rough accents, sure the sounds would come; but she heard nothing. Who’d have though she could ever miss those sounds?

  She inched forward, her desperation to not be left alone overpowering her caution. Her feet scuffed the floor gently, her hands feeling the walls for stability. Then, as if folding out of the wall, a light blinded her as strong hands grabbed her about the waist and wrists. She squealed and covered her eyes to shield them from the glaring light, struggling hard against her newest captor; but his grip was ironclad.

  When her sight finally returned, the face of a rough, frightening man hovered before her, his features cast harshly in the close lantern light. He wasn’t unattractive, but the fierceness of his expression was alarming; the type of look that can only be earned from years of harsh living and struggle. His eyes glowed a strange quality, a look that seemed to see for miles. It hypnotized her for a moment, before she was able to think again, or take in the rest of his appearance. He was tall, with light eyes and dark hair that framed his face in greasy clumps as it brushed his shoulders. He was dressed all in black and covered in a long cloak. His clothing looked serviceable but dirty and worn, as if he cared little for his appearance but was able to pay for quality. His countenance possessed a potency that she found intensely forceful and jarring. It startled her so much that she flinched and pulled away out of sheer alarm, but to no avail. She could not escape his iron grip, nor his terrifying gaze that seemed to pierce straight through her.