Disclaimer: I am not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. If I was, I would not look this good in heels (just kidding!).
A/N: Thanks everybody! I'm glad to know you're enjoying my short story!
The Game is a Footprint!
I heard another scream following the first, and I quickly took off in the direction of the calls. By the sounds of it a young lady was in terrible trouble. I hurried along, making my way over low gravestones and other debris in an attempt to reach the distressed lady. In the now total darkness I tripped several times, and once received a good blow from a low limbed tree. Still, I continued in search of the screaming woman.
Although I didn't hear anymore outright screams, I could clearly make out the sound of sobbing coming from directly ahead of me. More precisely, the sobbing was coming from directly below me. Through the shadows I could make out a pit, and it took me a moment to realize that I stood before an open grave. I cautiously stood to the side and peered down. There, crying at the bottom of the steep sided grave, was a woman dressed in a bright dress. I couldn't say the color but it was stained with dirt from when the unfortunate lady must have tumbled in.
"Miss, are you unhurt? Here, I can help you out," I said, offering my hand down to the lady. I could hardly make out the bright oval of her face as she turned it towards me, so dark were the shadows of the grave. She eagerly took my hand, yet she kept one arm securely around some small parcel at her waist. It took a few good tries, but I managed to pull the unfortunate woman out.
"Are you-" I had meant to ask if the lady was safe but before I could utter another word the woman had turned her entire weight upon me, forcing me into the deep grave. I barely avoided breaking both my ankles upon landing and was quick to face the woman who had tricked me.
"That'll teach you, you dirty ruffian. Tell your fellows, those other brutes of your little gang, that I am through. Take your prize but leave me be!" The woman threw down her package, nearly hitting me in the face. I was so shocked by her statement that I hardly had a chance to argue before she ran off into the surrounding woods.
"Miss, there's been some mistake! Miss!" My cries were hardly helpful; it was quite clear from the quiet that the woman had managed to make her escape quite quickly. If she was no longer around and believed me to be some sort of criminal, then there was only one chance in my escaping the grave before morning. "Holmes! Holmes, are you there? Halloa!"
It was soon clear that no one was near enough to hear my calls. Or, if Holmes had indeed managed to follow me, he was not in the mood to rescue me from my current predicament. The dramatist might see it a fitting justice for forcing him to go running throughout all of London. I decided that I would simply have to call for help every few minutes, until I was eventually discovered. The walls of my tomb were far too high to climb, far deeper than the standard six foot grave, something I had noticed while pulling the lady out.
Since rescue seemed some time away, I decided to inspect the package that had gotten me down here in the first place. For whatever reason, it was valuable enough that the woman had been bothered for it by quite a few people, to the point that she would rather be rid of it than go through the ordeal of protecting it. Imagine my surprise when it was nothing more than a book, although in the darkness I couldn't make out any of the pages.
I went through my pockets and was fortunate enough to find some matches in my cigarette case. Carefully balancing the book on my knee, I lit one of the matches and brought it close to the cover. On the spine the name Kipling glowed in the poor light, and I could see The Phantom Rickshaw and Other Tales written on the front. I frantically turned through the pages, searching for whatever hidden message would make the common volume so valuable. Unfortunately, my match was quickly spent and in that time I had failed to notice anything unusual in the anthology.
As I fumbled for another match, I became aware of several figures standing at the lip of the grave. I could not tell any details of their faces, but I could still make out some details of their clothes and stature. One knelt and seemed to survey the grave before settling his gaze on me.
"Hello, in need of some help?" the stranger asked.
"Yes, I accidentally tripped and fell in," I lied. The young lady had mentioned a gang, and if these were the same group then I was loath to inform them of how I had truly made my way into the grave.
"Well, I'm sure me and the lads can help you get up. What's that in your hand? You should toss it up first, then we can get you out without its loss."
"I'm sure I can manage-" I was interrupted by a familiar click, one that I have found is distinct to a gun being cocked. Although I couldn't make it out too well, I could definitely see that a small pistol had appeared in the stranger's hand.
"I highly recommend you hand it over."
With nowhere to hide, I grudgingly handed over the dangerous text. The leader of the gang handed it off to one of his boys, who quickly took off with the others. He stayed a while longer, as if gauging whether or not I was enough of a threat to kill. I felt my legs tense up, ready to spring aside should the weapon discharge. However, the man disappeared with his gang into the darkness, leaving me, once again, alone in the grave.
For a few minutes I considered calling out for assistance, but I couldn't be sure if the hooligans had left. I tried to climb up the side of the grave but the dirt gave way, sending me tumbling back down. Rather than get back up I allowed myself a moment of defeat and frustration. My old wound had finally pained me and I was in no condition to make another attempt. Instead, I would just have to wait for someone to find me.
As the time passed, I tried to make sense of the strange happenings of the evening. All I could conclude was that the novel I had been given by the young lady was somehow far more important than its cover portrayed. An entire street gang had taken up the search for it and whatever mysteries it might hold. Now it was in their hands and I was inexplicably involved in the matter.
A chill went through my bones and I cursed myself for not having brought a better coat. If the temperature continued to drop and I wasn't found, I very well might meet my end in the grave. It was while I tried to light another one of my matches that I noticed I was no longer alone, as a tall figure was now looming over my grave.
"Well, Watson, I can't say I would have picked this as your hiding place."