arms wrapped around mine and he helped me. The door gave
a tremendous squeak and I looked back at him gratefully.
I went through first, followed by the constable and then Heath. We descended the stairs
and went through the next doorway without incident, then out onto the low bridge that
spanned the moat. The bridge was quite narrow and we could travel across it only one
at a time. As I took my first several steps onto the stone structure, I could feel
my breath quicken.
It took me a moment to realize that the farther into the tunnel I went, the more distressed
I was becoming. I felt as if the low-hanging ceiling was starting to close in on me.
At first I tried to tamp the feeling down. Traveling through tunnellike enclosures
has never been a pleasant experience for me. I’d nearly met my maker in one or two
of them in fact.
So it was no wonder that I was having this reaction. But the more I tried to calm
my nerves, the more apparent it was that the anxiety mounting inside of me may not
have been exclusively due to the architecture.
About five yards onto the bridge, I came to an abrupt halt, which caused the constable
to bump into me. “Sorry,” he muttered, and I could feel him waiting impatiently for
me to continue.
“M. J.?” Heath said a bit farther back. “You okay?”
I nodded out of habit, but the truth was that I wasn’t okay at all. Goose pimples
were lining my arms and the air in the tunnel had suddenly become so cold that I could
clearly see my breath in the dim light. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered.
“Eh?” asked the constable. “What’s that?”
“Em?” Heath called again.
I backed up, or tried to, but the policeman was still right behind me and we bumped
together again. “You all right, miss?” he asked.
My heart was pounding in my chest and my sixth sense was going haywire. Something
was in the tunnel with us. Something bad.
Behind me I heard Heath’s sharp intake of air. He’d sensed it too. “We need to find
another route,” he said softly.
“What’s the matter with you lot?” the impatient constable snapped. “It’s straight
through here to the main keep. Just carry on, miss, and we’ll be there in a moment.”
“No,” I said, pushing back against him. “We’re not going across this bridge.” All
I wanted to do was get out of that damn enclosed space.
I could feel the constable’s impatience as he resisted my attempts to push him back
the way we’d come. “Listen ’ere,” he said, but the moment the words were out of his
mouth, there was a sound. . . like a hiss at the other end of the bridge, and I could
feel a rippling sensation all along my skin. The atmosphere had just gone from really
bad to way worse.
The sound affected all of us the same way; no one moved or said another word for several
seconds. Finally I risked an anxious “Heath?”
“I’m right here, but we need to get out of here. Now.”
Behind me I could feel the constable’s weight shift slightly away from me, so either
he was inching back or Heath was physically pulling him. And for the briefest moment
I actually felt like we were gonna get out of there without the evil spirit noticing,
but that was quickly quashed when another rather unearthly sound reached our ears.
I’d call it laughter, but it was hardly that. It was the cackling sound of a lunatic
and it filled the tunnel from floor to ceiling, echoing and bouncing off the walls
and our bodies.
It grew louder too, and soon it was at such an awful volume that I reached up to cover
my ears.
“Stop!”
I shouted when even that became unbearable, and the most unusual thing happened:
The cackling ceased and once again we were plunged into eerie silence save for the
quiet lapping of the water beneath the bridge.
“What the bloody hell was
that
?” the constable squeaked.
“Nothing good,” I replied, once again pushing against him as I tried to back up
a tremendous squeak and I looked back at him gratefully.
I went through first, followed by the constable and then Heath. We descended the stairs
and went through the next doorway without incident, then out onto the low bridge that
spanned the moat. The bridge was quite narrow and we could travel across it only one
at a time. As I took my first several steps onto the stone structure, I could feel
my breath quicken.
It took me a moment to realize that the farther into the tunnel I went, the more distressed
I was becoming. I felt as if the low-hanging ceiling was starting to close in on me.
At first I tried to tamp the feeling down. Traveling through tunnellike enclosures
has never been a pleasant experience for me. I’d nearly met my maker in one or two
of them in fact.
So it was no wonder that I was having this reaction. But the more I tried to calm
my nerves, the more apparent it was that the anxiety mounting inside of me may not
have been exclusively due to the architecture.
About five yards onto the bridge, I came to an abrupt halt, which caused the constable
to bump into me. “Sorry,” he muttered, and I could feel him waiting impatiently for
me to continue.
“M. J.?” Heath said a bit farther back. “You okay?”
I nodded out of habit, but the truth was that I wasn’t okay at all. Goose pimples
were lining my arms and the air in the tunnel had suddenly become so cold that I could
clearly see my breath in the dim light. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered.
“Eh?” asked the constable. “What’s that?”
“Em?” Heath called again.
I backed up, or tried to, but the policeman was still right behind me and we bumped
together again. “You all right, miss?” he asked.
My heart was pounding in my chest and my sixth sense was going haywire. Something
was in the tunnel with us. Something bad.
Behind me I heard Heath’s sharp intake of air. He’d sensed it too. “We need to find
another route,” he said softly.
“What’s the matter with you lot?” the impatient constable snapped. “It’s straight
through here to the main keep. Just carry on, miss, and we’ll be there in a moment.”
“No,” I said, pushing back against him. “We’re not going across this bridge.” All
I wanted to do was get out of that damn enclosed space.
I could feel the constable’s impatience as he resisted my attempts to push him back
the way we’d come. “Listen ’ere,” he said, but the moment the words were out of his
mouth, there was a sound. . . like a hiss at the other end of the bridge, and I could
feel a rippling sensation all along my skin. The atmosphere had just gone from really
bad to way worse.
The sound affected all of us the same way; no one moved or said another word for several
seconds. Finally I risked an anxious “Heath?”
“I’m right here, but we need to get out of here. Now.”
Behind me I could feel the constable’s weight shift slightly away from me, so either
he was inching back or Heath was physically pulling him. And for the briefest moment
I actually felt like we were gonna get out of there without the evil spirit noticing,
but that was quickly quashed when another rather unearthly sound reached our ears.
I’d call it laughter, but it was hardly that. It was the cackling sound of a lunatic
and it filled the tunnel from floor to ceiling, echoing and bouncing off the walls
and our bodies.
It grew louder too, and soon it was at such an awful volume that I reached up to cover
my ears.
“Stop!”
I shouted when even that became unbearable, and the most unusual thing happened:
The cackling ceased and once again we were plunged into eerie silence save for the
quiet lapping of the water beneath the bridge.
“What the bloody hell was
that
?” the constable squeaked.
“Nothing good,” I replied, once again pushing against him as I tried to back up
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