Everyone laughed and he scowled. “’Tisn’t a thing to scoff at. We’ve already had reports of a missing couple tonight.”
Lost to a pub, no doubt, I told myself. In good humor, we all descended the steep, narrow steps of Mary King’s Close. I shivered as we huddled around a narrow doorway while Liam fumbled for his keys. The thick wood door opened with an eerie screech and he led us into the bowels of an ancient building set against the slopes of the Old Town.
We walked single file down a dark, narrow hall, then through a low archway into a tiny room, maybe eight feet square. The only light came from Liam’s dim flashlight, and we gathered close around him. He held the light under his chin so that his face was distorted and the shadow of his head was projected onto the low ceiling above him.
It was an old trick but effective. A few women giggled as Liam explained that this small space was once home to a family of six. He waved his flashlight at the far wall, where a narrow counter held a small bucket and various dry goods, indicating the family’s kitchen area.
A female mannequin stood by the counter, dressed in what I assumed was typical servants’ clothing in seventeenth-century Scotland. A roughly hewn wooden baby’s cradle sat on the floor next to her feet.
I noticed one of the men in our group was too tall to stand upright, and I was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic myself.
Liam turned and ducked his head to get through a small doorway that led down another passageway. As we followed, he told us that in 1645, after many years of people dumping raw human waste and sewage out the windows to trickle down the steep narrow stairways and collect in Nor’ Loch at the bottom of the Old Town, bubonic plague finally hit Edinburgh.
His voice was grave as he related grisly tales of wealthy homeowners above stairs bricking off the lower floors, trapping and suffocating the sickly servants below in an attempt to stop the plague’s spread.
“Thousands died throughout the city,” he said dolefully. “And ghosts still haunt the dark, cramped spaces, such as the one in which we stand tonight.”
I shuddered as I ducked my head to enter yet another oppressively dark, airless room. Here, pallets were laid on the straw-strewn floor to indicate the family’s cramped sleeping area. Two pint-sized mannequins dressed as children lay on the lumpy bedding. Liam explained that the pallets were pulled up during the day and the space became the family’s sitting room.
I heard something skitter across the floor and gasped.
“What was that?” a woman asked.
Somebody else whispered, “Shut up.”
I wrapped my arms around my middle in an effort to bring back some warmth. My hands were as cold as ice cubes.
Liam aimed his flashlight around the space and I could see a rickety rocking chair near the compact hearth. Sitting in the rocking chair was a dummy dressed like a woman, holding an infant in her arms while her husband lay sleeping near the hearth.
The smell of mildew filled the air, and I couldn’t understand how anyone had managed to live in that cramped little room. My feet stuck to the moldy straw on the floor as Liam explained that the straw was used to soak up the moisture that seeped from the walls and low ceiling.
Fabulous. I was beginning to feel trapped, and was wondering if I was courageous enough to make my way back out to the street by myself, when Helen screamed.
I jumped. The shrill sound echoed off the thick walls and reverberated in my ears.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, grabbing her arm.
But she couldn’t stop screaming, so I shook her. Then another woman screamed.
“What the hell is wrong?” I shouted, then followed the direction of Helen’s gaze. Liam’s flashlight beam rested on the mannequin lying in the straw by the hearth.
But it wasn’t a mannequin. I recognized the man’s elegant gray cashmere jacket and the sweep of dark hair.
It was Kyle McVee. His head lay in a puddle of dark liquid, and I had no doubt it was blood. He was dead.
I let out my own piercing scream. The flashlight went off and the room was plunged into blackness.
Chapter 3
The room erupted into a chaotic mass of confused wails and more screaming. I felt sick and knew I might pass out if I didn’t escape, so I scrambled in the direction of the doorway and almost slipped on the slick straw. Someone in the crowd pushed me forward and I protested loudly.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Keep going.”
“I’m going.” I managed to find the narrow door and stumbled back along the passage toward the outside. The pounding footsteps and screaming behind me made me fear I’d be trampled at any second.