Chapter 5: That Which Dwells Beneath
Edinburgh, Scotland, 1828
The day had been fraught with misfortune.
William Hare stood off in a darkened corner of Dr. Robert Knox's cellar. His face was turned away from the gruesome scene behind him: namely, that of Knox's two assistants, Alexander Miller and Thomas Jones, laboring over an open barrel in which lay two bodies. Rigor mortis had set in, and the two men were having trouble pulling the cold, unnaturally bent cadavers from their make-shift ferry. Hare heard Miller mutter something about having to fetch a crowbar in order to take the barrel apart. Will closed his eyes against the morbid, lamp-lit horror of the room, against the entire situation. He listened to Miller's echoing footsteps as he clomped his way up stairs and into the rooms above.
Everything...everything that day had gone wrong.
It had all begun that morning with the appearance of an old woman from Glasgow, some nameless old woman with her obviously mentally enfeebled grandson in tow, asking for a room to let. And Burke, in his usual way, had offered her some whisky to drink, and the two of them had sat convivially together at Hare's kitchen table, with the woman partaking in the whisky until she was all but incapacitated. Burke had then taken her away to one of the rooms upstairs, where he had smothered her to death in his usual fashion. Once that was done, he had come back down for her skew-eyed twelve-year-old grandson, who sat, still as stone, staring off into the wild, wavering flames of an open fire, where an iron pot of water boiled. Hare had watched, with a swelling lump in his throat and his conscience stinging him like a swarm of angry horseflies, as Burke led the boy away upstairs, too, muttering that, "his Gran wished to see him straight away."
Burke had murdered the young boy as well.
Then the two of them had packed both bodies in a herring barrel.
Burke, addled by drink and tired out from his morning of murderous exertions, had pulled his back while attempting to pack away the bodies. He had then spent the better part of an hour afterwards complaining about it, and he had finally told Will, "you must load the barrel onto the Mrs.'s cart and have the horse pull it to the doctor's residence yourself." And so he had left Will, alone and exasperated, to the task of loading the barrel onto the back of a small cart inside his stable. But once Will had gotten the barrel loaded and into place, his mare had refused to pull it. She would go to the courtyard gate, and only that far with the most violent urgings, but not beyond. Will had been so spooked by this unforeseen turn of events that he had flown into a mental panic, unsure of what to do. Dreadful thoughts began to take up residence in his head, skittering across the plane of his psyche like an army of deranged ants. The fact that the horse would not pull the cart had to be an ill omen-had to be! Will was convinced of this. So much so that after failing to deliver the bodies, he had gone back inside his house, grabbed his pistol from the small cabinet inside his bedchamber, and had come back outside and shot the mare dead.
This act did nothing to untangle the skein of blackened thoughts that wound through his brain.
Afterwards, Will had gone upstairs to Burke, where he had told the other man all that had happened. Burke had just shaken his head in consternation. "What in the devil is wrong with you, have you gone daft? Send for the porter at the Square, and have him help carry the barrel to the residence." Will had then marched up darkened closes and down narrow wynds, beyond the teeming, festering slums of the South Bridge, to Number 10, Surgeon's Square, to ask the doctor's assistants for a porter. They had one sent over within the hour. And so Will, with the help of a man who went by the name of McCulloch, had hefted the barrel all the way to Knox's quarters, without the aid of Burke. And now Will was there, stuck inside the dissecting rooms with Knox's two assistants, stuck like the two dead bodies that were lodged inside the barrel.
"Would you like a cup of tea, John?"
Will jumped at the sound of Knox's erudite voice wafting out of the darkness. He turned to find the doctor standing still as night by his elbow. He hadn't heard his approach at all; he had been silent as the grave. And Will, flustered, answered, "I thank you, your honour, but no. I am fine."
Knox's spectacles flashed like light house beams beneath the line of hanging lamps. "Are you sure? You don't seem fine." Then Knox added, "I could always put a little something extra in it, to help soothe your nerves."
Again, Will was unsure of what to do. It was odd that a man of Knox's position would offer him anything, even something as small and insignificant as a cup of tea. But, looking at the floor, he said, with an inelegant mutter. "That's very thoughtful of you, your honour. It has been a somewhat...trying day."
"Of course it has," said Knox soothingly. Will's head jerked up. There was something...odd in the tone of his voice. Something knowing. Knox's form was back-lit by the lamps, his face cast in shadow, so that Will could not read his face. But Will felt Knox's eyes on him, felt the dark intensity of his stare. Felt it as if he had laid his very fingers over the contours of his face; felt it as if those eyes had the ability to reach out and touch him.
But such thoughts were absurd.
"Thomas," Knox said sharply, "Leave that and go upstairs and fetch us some tea, will you?"
Thomas, looking extremely glad to be given a reprieve from trying to pry out corpses from barrels, bounded away with a quick, "Yes, sir." Will listened to his steps as he clattered away noisily up the stairs.
Now he was all alone in the room with Knox. Will shifted nervously from foot to foot, dipped his head back toward the floor. If Knox noticed this, he did not remark on it. Instead, the doctor went on to chat amiably about everything and nothing, all the while standing close to Will's elbow. Will felt his presence sharply, his eyes darting off to the side to take in the fine weave of his dark suit, the stunning whiteness of his cuffs, the sharp cut of his lapels. Finally, he heard the doctor ask:
"And what do you dream about, John, when you're not busy...seeking out subjects to sell?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?" asked Will, caught off guard by the question.
"Your dreams," said Knox. Will thought he saw, through the veil of shadows, the beginnings of a smile. "This can't be-" and here Knox gestured toward the barrel with his hand "-your ideal situation in life."
"No, sir," Will whispered in response. Oh, he has no idea...
Instead of answering, Will countered with his own question: "What is it that you dream about, sir? If you don't mind my asking."
Again, Will thought he could detect the sliver of a smile on the doctor's face. "I don't mind at all," said the doctor, with a rather pensive look. "Well...after my rather lengthy sojourn in South Africa, I decided that what I really wanted to do most was come back here and create a naturalist's museum to rival the one in France. That, among other things..."
Will managed to look suitably impressed. "So you've been to South Africa, sir? Really?"
Knox was about to speak when a set of intrusive footsteps came clamoring down the cellar stairway. Soft, gold light amplified the strawberry brilliantined hair to a scorching shade of red. "Took me a blasted age to find the crowbar..." said Miller, his sentence suddenly falling away as he stopped short in front of Knox and Hare. With narrowed eyes, he glanced back and forth between the two men, his gaze finally settling on Knox in what almost looked like anger. Like betrayal. But even Hare, in his simple, uneducated way of thinking, knew that look for what it truly was.
It was a look of jealousy.
Edinburgh, Scotland, Present Day
The entrance to the South Bridge vaults looked innocuous enough. Just a simple wooden door set into a wall surrounded by other simple wooden doors. Just another normal-looking door on another normal-looking, cobble-stoned street. It was nearly sunset. Dusk painted the sky with vibrant hues of violet and orange, curled them like ribbons of smoke through reams of fire. Three long shadows flitted across the stone wall bordering the street. Three elongated shadows, moving in single file, then stopping abruptly, their forms striping the face of the wooden door, capturing it within narrow prison bars of shady black. One shadow moved, expanded, broke away from the rest. It moved forward, covered the door in total darkness. Then a gruff, Scottish voice said:
"Here we are, then."
Albert Ferguson angled his shoulder against the decades-old door, pushed it open with a violent nudge. From the threshold, one could see the rounded contours of a small vestibule, carved out of earth and rock. And beyond that, a second, narrower archway, mostly shrouded in darkness, with the top of a stone staircase just barely visible from the outside.
Ferguson turned back to face Jack and Ianto. "May I present to you the South Bridge vaults, gentlemen. One-hundred and ten interconnected rooms, spanning the whole of the bridge. Abandoned and left to rot sometime after 1835. And before that, it was inhabited by the very lowest of the low, the very worst of the worst of Edinburgh's slum class. Thieves, prostitutes, murderers-the whole degenerate lot. It was even said that the notorious Burke and Hare used to find victims down here, during their year-long killing spree-"
"Wait-who are Burke and Hare?" asked Ianto.
"A pair of serial killers," said Jack. "They murdered people, then sold their bodies to doctors for medical experiments. Can't believe you've never heard of them..."
Ianto gave Jack a quizzical look. "Why would I know about a pair of Scottish serial killers?"
"Because it's a really famous story, almost as famous as Jack the Ripper" replied Jack. "In fact, Burke and Hare murdered way more people than Jack the Ripper ever did-seventeen total. All the while posing as resurrectionists."
"Resurrectionists?" asked Ianto, his expression becoming more perplexed by the moment.
"Grave robbers," supplied Albert.
"Oh. But...they didn't actually rob any graves?" said Ianto.
"No," answered both Jack and Albert.
"Oh."
Albert was eyeing the stone staircase with unmasked trepidation. "This is where I"ll be leaving you to your investigation, Captain. I would tell you that I would remain in contact by com-link, but I fear that they will be rendered useless down there. All I can say is, I wish you good luck." With that said, Ferguson turned to depart. He walked a few paces up the street, then paused. He turned back around and said:
"Are you not coming, Mr. Jones?"
Ianto stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I'm going with Jack."
Albert arched a graying eyebrow. "I'm not sure that is wise-"
"-maybe not, but it's what I'm doing regardless," said Ianto, cutting him off. He turned and gave Jack a determined, stony look. A challenging look. Don't you dare try to tell me not to go down there...
And then, as if he had spoken aloud, Jack shrugged and said, "I'm not going to tell you not to go down there-"
"I"m staying with you," Ianto answered firmly. Always. Forever. To the end. And if you don't realize that, then you're an idiot. A great, big 51st century American idiot...
"Guess you're coming with then," said Jack with a pleased half-smile. Then to Albert: "We'll meet you back at the hub for a glass of Scotch later."
"I certainly hope so," said Albert stoically, before turning and heading back down the street, his black duster billowing out behind him like a storm cloud. Jack and Ianto watched him disappear around a curve in the long winding street.
"Well, let's head on in," said Jack, confidently clicking on his torch and ducking into the vestibule. His steps were dauntless, his posture lacking in fear.
And why should he fear anything, thought Ianto, he's the man who can't die. And with a small, mental prayer, Ianto clicked on his flashlight and dutifully followed Jack into the vaults. They descended the stone staircase into a musty, inky blackness. The stone walls seemed to grow narrower with every echoing step of their descent, seemed to close in on them as they progressed. The stairs wound downward in a twisting, demonic spiral; Ianto felt they were following a tunnel down into hell. Or perhaps wonderland. Which was, in Ianto's mind, just another more whimsical version of hell.
They came to the bottom of the stairway, which ended in a long, dark room with a floor of packed earth. A tiny amber lamp in a wire sconce had been placed above the doorway on the opposite end of the room, its fragile light pulsing, flickering, revealing yet another long room beyond that, with yet another, identical carved doorway beyond that one. And what was beyond that? Probably more dark rooms, more narrow doorways. More unreliable, orange lighting. Ianto slashed the beam of his torch across the room they were standing in, revealing sets of shelves hollowed out of the walls. Light bounced, glinted off the dusty glass of a forgotten wine bottle. There was nothing to see in here; nothing of interest. Only emptiness, and silence.
Jack prowled restlessly forward.
The beam of his torch bounced eerily off the grimy stone walls. Ianto followed Jack through the second doorway into another long room which then branched off into three other rooms. Ianto stood beneath the doorway, the amber bulb above him flashing like a lazy firefly, dousing him in the light of a failing, blood-red sun. Jack sauntered through another doorway on the left, and Ianto hurried to keep up. He didn't like these rooms. Didn't like their darkness, their silence. Didn't like the secrets they were keeping.
Thwack!
Ianto whirled at the sound of something slapping smartly against the earthen floor. The beam of his torch illuminated the wall behind him, revealing nothing but empty space. "Hey-did you hear that?" Ianto asked quietly, as if something might hear him. As if he feared himself being heard.
"What? No. I didn't hear anything," Jack said from another doorway. His flashlight bounced briefly across the floor, then vanished.
Thwack!
Ianto froze. "I definitely heard something that time." He surged forward, toward the other doorway on the right. The amber light above the entrance shuddered brightly once, then failed all together as Ianto passed through it. The room was pitched into darkness. Still, he pressed on.
Thwack!
"Jack-can you hear that?" Ianto said, turning in a circle in the middle of the darkened room. He saw, down a narrow stone hallway, another doorway set with another tiny lamp, its dull, dusky light shining bravely against the impinging darkness, barely keeping it at bay. The slapping noise came echoing through the room, over and over again, with a maddening, taunting rhythm:
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Ianto whispered down the hallway, paused at the entrance of another room. This room, he saw, was much smaller than the others. He stepped inside it, played his flashlight over the back wall of the narrow space. And he saw that there was something inside it, something crowded in a clump against the far wall. Ianto moved forward with slow, hesitant steps. So many, many things on the back wall. "Jack-come see this!" Ianto called.
No answer.
Ianto continued to move slowly forward, steadying his flashlight in order to get a better look at the items against the dank, crumbling wall. Dolls. So many of them. All in various shapes, and sizes. All wearing different kinds of dresses. Dolls that looked old, dirty, and frayed. Dolls that looked bright and plastic and new. Dozens and dozens of dolls.
"Did you bring me a doll, mister?"
Ianto started and the light fumbled out of his grasp. It bounced over the floor and rolled to a short stop. The light remained on, its beam shining brightly over the blank, lifeless features of the dolls. And in its hazy beam of light, a tiny pair of feet appeared, wearing brown, lace-up shoes.
"Do you have my doll?"
"Who are you? What are you doing down here by yourself?" asked Ianto in a tremulous voice. He edged forward, reached out to try and retrieve the flashlight.
"They all bring me dolls, you know," said the little girl's voice. The brown shoes slid out of the beam of light, retreated silently into the darkness. The slapping sound came again, over and over: thwack! thwack! thwack! This time louder, closer. And Ianto suddenly recognized it for what it was...
It was the sound of a jump rope hitting the floor.
"Little girl?" Ianto knelt down, picked up the torch. He played the light back across the walls, over the demonic faces of the little dolls, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. The slapping sound continued, and out of the darkness her voice sang, as bright and as lovely as a church bell:
Up the close and down the stair,
Up and down with Burke and Hare,
Burke's the butcher, Hare's the thief,
Knox the man who buys the beef...
The beam of the torch shimmied and danced as Ianto's hands shook violently with fear. He bolted for the room's entrance. He could almost feel the stare of the dolls, feel their dead, plastic eyes following his every move. Ianto ran down the hallway and back into the room with the dead bulb. "Jack! Jack-where are you? Jack are you here? Jack!" Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck as his calls were met with a heart-pounding silence. And in the hallway behind him, Ianto thought he heard the sound of a little girl laughing.
"Better get out of here before Mr. Boots comes, mister," came a whispering voice out of the darkness.
"What?" Ianto's voice had shot up an octave. He was now well and truly scared. The room with the broken light was as icy and as dark as a winter's night. Ianto slashed the torch beam over the doorway he'd just came through, backing with shaking steps toward the entrance. He expected, at any moment, to see the ghostly form of a little girl. Or rather, the ghost of a little girl. He expected to hear her high-pitched giggles, the sound of her jump rope hitting floor. He expected-
-what he didn't expect was the pair of hands that reached around to grab him, covering his mouth...
End Chapter 5.
I didn't make up the girl with the doll shrine (her name's Annie, by the way), or Mr. Boots. I'm just borrowing them.
I didn't make up the jump rope rhyme, either. It's a real one (gah! creepy!).
Hope everyone enjoyed it...until next time! :)