“Please be careful on the steps.” Deeper and deeper Richardson led them down the sloping passages, through tunnels that rang with the muffling echoes of their feet and oozed a thick, viscid moisture from the walls until none but he was sure of the way back. Eventually they left the sewer system and exited, via another downward sloping passage, into a rat-run of interconnected vaulted chambers. Some were sealed off with portcullis-type gates and all were ancient.
There was an air of menace about these subterranean spaces; an aura of evil and cruelty that was almost tangible. In this place of darkness and death only the shadows seemed alive.
“All sorts of ghostly things have been seen down here. Not surprising, I guess, when one considers the grisly history which has literally seeped into the very walls.” Richardson continued with his spiel: “In 1779 the crown ordered a violent, merciless assault on the inhabitants in an attempt to clamp down on the rampant lawlessness that, like a contagion, spread from here. Hundreds were butchered in their sleep or rounded up and dragged to the surface where they were either imprisoned or executed. Six years later it was the turn of the church. By order of the bishop the known entrances were sealed off, resulting in mass starvation.”
“I didn’t think it would be so big,” commented Lester, eyes wide as he stared all around.
“This is but one part of the Undercity. Exactly how far it stretches no one actually knows however there are points of access in Grey Chapel Cemetery, Kirkwall Street, St. Cuthbert’s Causeway and West Tower Road in addition to the one we entered by. It is said that there may also be entrances near the castle as well as one in the vaults of the cathedral where we started. At the height of its inhabitation it has been suggested that up to six thousand people may have lived down here. It must have been a very basic existence; food and fresh water being scarce and having to be scavenged from above. Sadly, it is a documented fact that cannibalism was rife and there are reports of folk being snatched from above and dragged down here for such a purpose.”
“I did a history lesson about Sawney Bean, the Scottish cannibal who lived on the Ayrshire coast,” spoke up one of the young men. “He lived in a cave and ate people.”
“Ayrshire is a little outside my beat but I can’t say that I’ve heard of him,” replied Richardson. “Anyway, if anyone has any questions I’ll be pleased to answer them.”
Lester ran a hand down the wall, feeling the dampness on the rough surface. “You said earlier that these tunnels were several hundred years old. Well, I’ve been to Egypt and I’ve been inside some of the ancient tombs in the Valley of the Kings and I’ve got to say this place looks a damn sight older even though those tombs were thousands of years old.”
“The main part of the Undercity is three hundred, maybe four hundred years old. It could be that there are older parts as yet undiscovered but I doubt it,” Richardson replied, casting a casual glance at his watch. It was a quarter past nine; time to be winding things up. “If you’re all ready we’ll start heading out. I’ll be leading you out a different—” He stopped as everything went several shades gloomier and then suddenly dark, the light from his powerful torch dying before going out.
There were a few startled cries.
“Please be calm,” Richardson called out. “The batteries on my torch must’ve died. Just a moment. I’ve got spares in my—”
“What the hell was that?” Lester called out.
“Something just moved past me,” cried one of the young men.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” screamed Stanley’s wife hysterically.
What followed was pure pandemonium. It seemed that everyone was screaming now as panic broke out. In the utter darkness people were floundering and tripping, colliding with others and stumbling, blindly, into the walls as the darkness become peopled by nightmares.
Richardson was fumbling desperately for his spare batteries. He slid one into place and then someone staggered into him, knocking the second battery from his trembling fingers. With a curse, he dropped to his knees and began feeling around hoping that it had not rolled far or down a crack in the floor. It would be pure hell trying to get these frightened people out in pitch darkness.
“Jesus Christ! Something’s got a hold of my—” Lester’s words were cut short as there came a scratching, ripping sound followed by an obscene, terrible gargling.
Yells and cries reverberated off the Undercity walls, chasing themselves in fading echoes down the age-old tunnels. In the terror-filled darkness it was clear that some had tried to flee from the ensuing madness for their screams now sounded further away. Someone nearby was whimpering, their pathetic mumbled words half-prayer, half-nonsense.
Like a blind man feeling his way forward, Richardson’s fingers clamped around the missing battery. He slid it into place and…what he saw as the torchlight illuminated his surroundings once more caused his heart to leap and his stomach to lurch.
Crouched over the bloody, savaged corpse of Lester was a small, naked, thoroughly grotesque being, its skin pale, almost bone-white. The emaciated thing’s face was wrinkled and sallow, its eyes huge and black, doll-like. Fresh blood dribbled out of its crooked, tooth-filled maw from where it had been feasting on its victim’s torn throat.
Mercifully, Richardson only saw it for a second or two for it recoiled instantly from the bright light, hissing its wrath and shielding its eyes before scampering rapidly away. It vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, its movements loping and almost spider-like as it clambered up one of the tunnel walls and disappeared into a crack in the ceiling. A blurred motion to his left made him spin round, catching at the corner of his eye a second white blur as another one of the things dashed out of view. He raised a hand to his mouth, grimacing and fighting to keep down his supper upon seeing the mutilated bodies of Stanley’s wife and one of the young men, their ravaged, bloody corpses showing signs of bite marks.
Insanity threatened to tear Richardson’s mind apart. The harrowing horror, the bloody carnage and the madness battered and yammered at his brain, sending it spiralling in a hundred different directions, each one darker and more chaotic than the last.
“Are they gone?” asked one of the young men, shambling back into the light. His face was ashen and he was trembling. Blood ran from a claw mark on his arm.
“What in Hell’s name were they?” questioned another. Unlike his friend he appeared uninjured but there was shock and confusion imprinted all over his face.
“I don’t know—but we have to get out of here,” answered Richardson. “It could be that the torchlight kept them away. We’ve got to get moving.”
“I’m going nowhere without my husband. You’ve got to help him,” pleaded Mary. She stood gazing down at her very dead husband, clearly not accepting the fact that he was beyond help, after all there was nothing in Richardson’s first-aid kit that could perform miracles. “We have to get the police and an ambulance.”
“Come on, let’s get going before those things come back.” One of the young men was practically pleading with Richardson to leave—to abandon the American woman if need be—after all he was the only one with a light source and this was now a survival situation. Tears would have to wait until they were out.
As Richardson hesitated, contemplating whether or not to drag the woman with him, there came the echoing clang of one of the portcullis-like gates closing. Several seconds later the sound came again, more muffled this time, further away and from a different direction.
“What was that?” asked Stanley. He had sat, huddled in a corner,