Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 9



Three Months Earlier…

Slouched in the chair behind the desk in the Inner Sanctum, Cowl awoke with a start. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. Minutes? Hours? Was it day or night? It was impossible to know as there were no windows in the Inner Sanctum.

Groggy and emotionally drained from his encounter with the Messenger––and from a taxing but unsuccessful attempt at solving the riddle––he rubbed his eyes fitfully and tried to stand. Half way up he stopped, his attention poised and focused on a faint scratching sound. The hell is that? It seemed to be coming from the wall to the right of the desk. He lowered himself back into the chair and listened. Nothing. Then it came again, briefly, then it stopped.

He got up and crept across the floor in the direction of the noise. He put his ear to the wall and heard it again but realized it wasn’t coming from inside the wall. He backed away, listening intently. It came again. He looked down. It was coming from under the floor, directly below the spot where he was standing. Son of a bitch. F*ckin’ rats. He stomped on the floor. “Get the hell out of here you little bastards!” He stomped the floor again and a portion of the carpet slipped loosely beneath his feet. What––?

He crouched down for a closer look and saw the carpet had been neatly cut so a section of it could be moved.

He grabbed it, rolled the loose section back as far as it would go and found himself staring at a trapdoor. You gotta be f*cking kidding me.

He gripped the recessed handle and gave it a tug. The old hinges squealed in pain as he lifted it higher. Silky cobwebs stretched like dusty strands of cotton candy until they separated. A rush of damp, cool air gushed up from the depths of the dark pit. A frightened rat spun on its hind feet and scurried back down into the darkness.

Startled, Cowl lost his grip on the handle. The trapdoor slammed shut and he tumbled backward. He stomped on the top of the trapdoor with his heel and hurled a series of curses at the rat.

He regained his composure, crawled back and lifted the door again, cautiously peeking under it before raising it all the way. The cool rush of pungent air hit him in the face again but the rats had skittered away to God knows where.

Just enough light was coming from the lamp on the desk so he could see part way into the void. A wooden ladder was firmly attached to the frame of the opening, leading down into the hole. It beckoned him with an invitation he couldn’t resist.

He maneuvered himself into position and lowered his right leg into the cool damp darkness. His foot caught the first rung of the ladder. He tapped on it a couple times to test its strength. He brought his left leg down and found the footing equally stable. He stood, poised on the first rung, wondering if this was really such a good idea. He lowered himself down another rung then stopped abruptly. What was that? He listened intently. Nothing. He continued his descent. Finally, his foot touched a dirt floor.

The dim light from the lamp on the desk in the Inner Sanctum, now a good eight or nine feet above him, had no effect this deep into the hole. He could barely even see the ladder that he was clinging to.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his lighter and gave it a flick. The yellow glow from the small flame was enough to reveal that he was surrounded by four brick walls that were beginning to crumble from age.

The entire enclosure was small, about six feet square. On the wall directly across from the ladder was a wooden door. It had been painted a hideous shade of olive green, the paint now cracked and peeling like the decaying scales of some long dead serpent. The rats had gnawed a hole through the bottom panel. At least he assumed it was rats. Of course it was. What else could it be? For a moment, he conjured up an assortment of Lovecraftian creatures crouching on their haunches, waiting patiently in the dark just beyond the door, waiting to devour him like a side of fresh beef. He quickly held his imagination in check.

Hoping to find a light switch, he moved his lighter closer to the wall on his right. There it was, an old fashioned push-button switch, the likes of which he’d never seen before. The two buttons, one above the other, were color-coded although the colors, now, were faded and worn. The upper button was green, the lower one, red. He pushed the green button. A small, low-wattage light bulb on the ceiling of the enclosure flickered a couple times and came on. The bulb itself was yellowed with age. Its dim light flooded the room with an eerie, amber glow.

It was only when the light came on that he realized he’d barely breathed at all since the moment he began his descent. He relaxed a bit and examined his surroundings. Then a brief moment of panic set in. Shit. What if someone comes along and closes the trapdoor and locks me in? But the fear passed quickly as reason prevailed. Don’t be an idiot. Who’s gonna close the f*ckin’ door?

Having talked himself into at least a temporary state of confidence, he turned his attention again to the old wooden door in front of him. He stood, staring at it for several moments, afraid to imagine what might be on the other side but equally unable to resist the temptation to find out.

He stepped forward and gingerly wrapped his fingers around the worn, bronzed doorknob. It was cold and smooth and slightly damp. He held his breath and gave the knob a gentle twist.

Click.

He froze for a moment, then allowed himself to nudge the door open just an inch or so. Another gush of cool, earthy air pushed into his face. He winced, nudged the door another few inches and peered into the darkness.

Once again he flicked his lighter and extended it into the void, not yet daring to take the first step across the threshold. The small flame allowed him to get a vague glimpse of what was waiting for him.

From what he could see, it appeared to be nothing more than a narrow tunnel, maybe four feet wide and, like the small space in which he was still standing, the walls appeared to be lined with crumbling red brick. Light. Gotta be a light. He waved the lighter around and finally spied another push-button switch protruding from the wall of the tunnel just inches beyond the door.

He reached in and pressed the top button but nothing happened. He pushed the lower button and that caused the upper button to pop out again. Once more he pushed the upper button. The action caused a momentary crackling noise. In the next instant the tunnel was dimly aglow from the light of a long string of small bulbs, spaced about six feet apart, trailing along a wire loosely hanging from wooden planks overhead. The wire ran the entire length of the tunnel, perhaps about fifty feet. He strained to see what was at the far end but there wasn’t enough light. He was tempted to turn back but his sense of curiosity got the better of him. He sucked up one more ounce of his dwindling supply of courage and stepped across the threshold.

As he crept along, step by cautious step, a bizarre thought passed through his mind. Could I be dreaming all of this? He let his hand brush along the cold, damp brick wall as he continued his slow pace. No. This is real. Surreal, but real. Real surreal. He gave a quiet chuckle as the musician in him took hold. Could be a song in that. As his hand continued to graze the side of the wall, a small chunk of the crumbling brick came loose and fell to the ground. He stopped for a moment, then continued on.

The end of the tunnel was now just ten feet ahead and he could clearly see what was waiting for him: Another wooden door.

The rats––again, he hoped it was only rats––had managed to gnaw their way through a portion of the bottom panel of this door, too. Unlike the other door, this one was unpainted, warped and splitting from the dampness. He stood directly in front of it, shaking his head. How far can this thing go? He reached for the knob and flung the door open. Another rush of cold air rolled in but it smelled fresher than he’d expected. He’d reached the end of the tunnel.

The lighting from the tunnel behind him filtered in through the open door just enough so he could see he was about to step into a small enclosure much like the one back at the other end where he’d started.

He entered the enclosure and found yet another push-button switch. He pressed the button but no light came on. He tried again but still nothing. He pulled out his lighter, gave it a flick and held the flame high. He looked up.

The ceiling of the enclosure was about eight or nine feet above and he could see the light fixture was missing a bulb. Damn. He moved the lighter around and found a ladder attached to one of the walls. He looked up. Must be another trapdoor. He climbed the ladder and gave the lighter a flick. Just as he suspected, it was another trapdoor. He braced himself on the rungs of the ladder, reached up and gave the trapdoor a nudge. The rusty hinges creaked. With another heave, he flipped it all the way and scrambled up the ladder into the opening.

Standing upright now, he flicked the lighter again and looked around. His eyes widened. What the–? You gotta be kidding me.