Dark Little Wonders and Other Stories Read online

  He turns to me, and I see that he's holding another large book, similar to the one that's upstairs.

  “What is it?” I ask, stepping closer as the door continues to thud and bang.

  “It's our only hope,” he says. “We're going to go right back to the start, to the spell Eleanor used to trap her dark soul in the book upstairs. I've done my research, and I think it's possible. I memorized the entire book and -”

  “You memorized it?” I gasp.

  “I've been here for years and years.”

  “Then why didn't you copy it?”

  “I'm afraid it had to be done by a woman,” he replies. “One of the many rules that were included in Eleanor Fabricci's original incantations. Why a woman? I have no idea. But the good news is, I think I've distilled the book into its most important parts.” He turns to me again. “I'll write, you copy. If we can get it done and sealed before that thing up there reaches us, we might have a chance.”

  “But -”

  “You're just going to have to trust me, Mia.”

  I open my mouth to ask him to explain again, but at the last moment I realize that I'll never truly understand what's happening. Maybe later, once we're out of here, I can sit down and figure it out, but right now my mind is racing. I take my phone from my pocket, just in case by some miracle I've suddenly got signal, and then I look over at Salvatore again and see that he's assembled some pots of ink on the floor.

  “Tell me what to do,” I say with a trembling tone to my voice, as the door above is bumped again.

  “Get over here,” he replies, and I hurry around the pots and drop to my knees.

  “You're already writing!” I gasp.

  “We don't have much time,” he says, before glancing up toward the door at the top of the stairs, just as there's yet another thud. “It won't hold forever. Just copy what I do, word for word. And Mia...” He pauses as he looks at me again. “You don't have time to make any mistakes. Not now.”

  “I won't.”

  He gets back to work, and I do the same, copying each and every letter into the book that he gave me. My heart is still racing, but somehow I'm able to focus and pretty soon we've got one of the pages done.

  “We only need about ten pages,” he explains.

  “The book upstairs was so much longer!”

  “This is going to be the abridged version,” he replies, as he sets the candle aside. “It'll hold her for now, until we can re-write the full book and seal her for longer.”

  I look down at the page and get back to work, while wiping my brow. The furnace is so hot and I'm sweating like crazy, but I can't afford to let myself get distracted. I focus on copying Salvatore's work, while trying not to panic each time I hear the banging sound on the door at the top of the stairs.

  “What if this doesn't work?” I ask after a few minutes.

  “It will.”

  “But what if it doesn't.”

  “It has to.”

  “But -”

  “There's no other plan!” he snaps. “It's this, or Eleanor Fabricci gets her hands on us. And to answer your next question, I don't know what she'll do then. In the original documents, it's mentioned that her spirit form can't leave the house unaided. She's been trapped in that book for hundreds of years, though, so she's had time to think of a plan.”

  Before I can answer, a bead of sweat falls from my face and lands on the page.

  “Does that matter?” I ask, nudging Salvatore's arm. “Will that ruin what we're doing?”

  “It should be fine,” he replies, “but there's some other ink in the storage room. Run through and grab it for me.”

  “Can we spare the time?”

  “We'll be able to write faster with the other ink. It'll be clearer in the heat. Run!”

  Scrambling to my feet, I hurry past the furnace and race into the storage room. I have to use the light from my phone in order to see, but I quickly discover a set of shelves filled with various pots. Heading over, I try to figure out which of them might be the ink that Salvatore mentioned, but it's hard to read the labels.

  “I don't know which one you want!” I shout.

  “It's in a tall bottle!” he yells. “Near the back! The tallest bottle! Hurry!”

  I'm about to tell him that I don't see any such thing, when suddenly I spot a tall bottle hidden away at the very back of the top shelf. I reach for the bottle, only to find that it's too far away, so I have to stand on tip-toes and really struggle to extend my arm. I manage to brush my fingertips against the bottle, and then I work for a few more seconds before finally I manage to start pulling it closer. Eventually, even though progress feels painfully slow, I'm able to grab the bottle and pull it out, and then I turn and rush back through to the main part of the basement.

  “Salvatore!” I shout. “I found it! Now -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see the book on the floor, and the papers too, but there's no sign of Salvatore.

  I look around, hoping to spot him, and then I step forward as I try to work out what must have happened. I open my mouth to call to him, but then I stop again as I realize that something else is wrong.

  I look toward the stairs.

  There's no longer a knocking sound coming from the door at the top.

  “Salvatore?” I say cautiously.

  There's no answer, so I take a couple of steps forward. I tell myself that he probably went to fetch something, but then I see the pages on the floor and I remember how frantically he was working. If we were in such a rush, how would he then have time to stop like this? Making my way closer, I see one of the half-finished sheets of paper, and a shudder passes through my body.

  Suddenly I hear a banging sound over my shoulder.

  Spinning round, I half expect to see Salvatore right behind me, or even that woman from upstairs, but there's no-one. All I see is the furnace, and the rest of the empty basement.

  “Salvatore?” I call out again.

  Almost immediately, there's another brief bang, this time coming from somewhere near the furnace.

  I step closer, until I can feel the heat. The flames are roaring behind the glass door, but then I hear the bang again and I realize that the sound seems to be coming from really, really close.

  “Salvatore?” I ask, as light from the furnace flickers across my face. “Are you -”

  Suddenly something moves in the flames, inside the furnace, and I'm horrified to see a burning figure leaning toward the inside of the glass door. He puts a hand on the glass, and for a few seconds I see a charred face screaming out at me. I scream and step back, and then I rush forward and drop to my knees.

  Reaching out, I grab the handle, but I find that this time the furnace won't open.

  “Salvatore!” I shout. “I'm going to get you out of there!”

  I keep trying the handle, but I can already see his face burning away, and finally- slowly – he starts to slump back into the flames.

  “No!” I scream. “Wait! I'm going to save you!”

  I can only see the hand now, still pressed against the inside of the glass, but then even that falls away. All that's left is a grim, dark patch of skin that seared away from his hand and got stuck to the glass.

  “Salvatore!” I sob, watching the flames for a moment before leaning back as I realize that it's too late.

  And then, suddenly, I hear a creaking sound over my shoulder.

  I freeze for a moment, before getting to my feet. Tears are streaming down my face, but I keep telling myself that I'm wrong, that there's no-one behind me. More than, I tell myself that none of this can really be happening, that I must be dreaming, but then I hear the creaking sound again. I flinch, knowing that I should turn but not quite managing to force myself to move. Then I hear the sound yet again, and this time I can tell that it's getting closer and closer, and I can feel the hairs starting to stand up on the back of my neck.

  And even though I'm right in front of the furnace, the room is getting so much colder.

  Fina
lly, just as I hear another slow creak, I force myself to turn. And in that instant, I briefly see the face of the dead woman, right before she screams and lunges at me.

  Twelve

  “Ms. Culper?”

  Startled, I gasp and sit up, only to find that I'm at the desk in the room upstairs. I look around, searching for the dead woman, but there's no sign of her. There's only the desk itself, and the finished pages, and the cabinet containing the book, and – when I turn the other way – a rather startled-looking Mr. Shawyer.

  “Well,” he says, with a faint smile, as he checks his watch, “it's certainly clear that you must have worked very hard. I see that you completed the pages, as I'd anticipated. I'm sure you must be exhausted.”

  “I...”

  Turning, I look out onto the landing and see the the cold light of morning has begun to spread throughout the building. I hesitate, and then – hearing the distant clunk of the furnace – I turn to Mr. Shawyer again.

  “I shall have to check these myself, of course,” he says as he picks up the final page, “but a cursory glance indicates that you've done well. Very well. I believe we might have our latest copy of the Fabricci manuscript.”

  “Where's Salvatore?” I ask.

  He turns to me.

  “Have you seen him?” I continue, filled with panic as I get to my feet. Sure, it's starting to seem as if I fell asleep and dreamed the horror in the basement, but I have to be sure.

  “Ms. Culper, I -”

  “Where is he?” I snap.

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” he replies, “I would like to know the same thing.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper. “He left a note, informing me that he has had to take a short leave of absence for personal reasons.” He unfolds the paper and shows me the sprawled, spidery handwriting. “Apparently he'll be back next week. I must say, I would have liked a little more warning. Then again, youngsters tend not to be the most responsible people in the world. I shall just have to manage without him until he returns.”

  “Are you sure this is from him?” I ask, as I take the piece of paper and read the note.

  “Who else could it be from?” Mr. Shawyer replies. “Ms. Culper, I hope you don't mind if I say that you seem rather befuddled this morning. When I came into the room, you seemed to be in the throes of a nightmare. I couldn't quite make out what you were saying, but you were mumbling in a rather agitated manner.”

  Still staring at the piece of paper, I try to get my thoughts straight.

  “Was it a nightmare, Ms. Culper?” he continues. “Is that what was happening? If so, I do hope that it wasn't too dreadful.”

  I pause, before looking back at him.

  “It was... just a dream,” I say, before handing the note to him. “I'm sorry, I guess I must have fallen asleep after I finished the last page.”

  “You've done a splendid job,” he replies as he takes some money from his pocket and holds it out for me. “There's a little bonus in there too, for all your hard work. I must say, I have been very impressed by you. Unfortunately it's necessary for each copy to be made by a fresh hand, otherwise I would most certainly keep you on. If you require a reference of any sort, you mustn't hesitate to let me know.”

  “Thank you,” I say, before taking the money and slipping it carefully into my pocket.

  “And now,” he continues, as he ushers me toward the door and out onto the landing, “I'm sure you'd like to get home.”

  “I have to go and fetch my cat.”

  “Exactly,” he says, and now we make our way down the stairs. “You've made a wonderful contribution to our work here, young lady. You should be very proud of yourself.”

  “And what exactly is your work here?” I ask, as I think back to all the crazy claims that Salvatore made in my nightmare. “Now that I'm finished, can't you tell me a little more about it?”

  “I'm afraid not,” he says, “but suffice it to say that you have done splendidly. Yes, absolutely splendidly. And now...”

  Suddenly he turns and looks back up the stairs. As I turn and follow his gaze, I realize that I think I heard a faint creaking sound from up on the landing, although there's no sign of anything now.

  “And now it's all fine,” Mr. Shawyer says after a moment, although he sounds a little troubled. “Yes, everything is clearly alright and we shall carry on as normal.” He checks his watch, and then he turns to me. “This is an old house, that's all. It always tends to be a little noisy, although...”

  His voice trails off, and after a moment he looks up toward the landing again.

  “Although what?” I ask. “Mr. Shawyer, are you okay? Are you scared of something?”

  He stares for a moment longer, before turning to me again.

  “Of course not,” he says, forcing a smile that's not entirely convincing. “Whatever makes you think that? Please, don't concern yourself. All is good with the world. We all carry on in our little roles.”

  He leads me to the front door and pulls it open, just as a girl reaches out to knock from the other side.

  “Ah,” he continues brightly, “and you must be Ms. Eliot. You're right on time. That's a very good first impression. Very good indeed.”

  “I'm here about the job you advertised,” she says cautiously, and she seems a little nervous as Mr. Shawyer gestures for her to come inside. “For a moment, I wasn't sure I'd be able to find the place. It's kind of hidden away.”

  “Is she going to make another copy of the book?” I ask.

  “Thank you again for your contribution,” Mr. Shawyer replies, and it's clear now that he wants me to leave. “I have everything in hand here. Or at least, I shall be able to get by until Salvatore comes back. Quite why that dratted boy felt he could go swanning off like this, I can't imagine.” He turns and starts leading the new girl up the stairs. “I wish you all the best, Ms. Culper!” he calls back to me. “All the very best indeed! Farewell!”

  “Farewell,” I reply, and then I watch for a moment as they head through to the room.

  “As I explained on the telephone,” I hear Mr. Shawyer saying upstairs, “one of the most important qualities that I seek in new employees is attention to detail...”

  I stop listening after a moment. I know I should leave, but I can't help glancing over at the door that leads down to the basement. I hesitate, telling myself that I really have no right to go down there, but then I hurry over and open the door, and then – before I really have time to consider the matter any further – I start making my way down the rickety old staircase.

  Once I'm in the basement, I see that the furnace has been switched off. I guess Salvatore maybe did that before he left. And there's no sign of any of the papers we were working on during the night. The room is icy cold as I make my way across the cracked concrete floor, but then I guess it shouldn't be a big surprise to find that a London basement is cold at this time of year, especially with the heating off. I stop in the middle of the room and look around, but I have to admit that nothing seems amiss.

  I'm about to go back upstairs and leave, when I look over at the furnace. For a moment, I think back to that horrific image from my nightmare when I saw Salvatore's face burning away. I walk over and crouch down, and then I swing the door open and take a look at the inside of the glass.

  There's plenty of muck and dirt, but I don't think I see any human flesh seared onto the glass. There's certainly no sign of a hand.

  I look into the furnace, but it's too dark for me to see anything. Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone and switch on the flashlight, which I then use to peer into the furnace's heart. Deep down, I'm worried that I'll see a set of human bones, but there's nothing like that at all. There's plenty of ash and other junk, but nothing that looks untoward. I shine the light around for a moment longer, just to be sure, and then I pull my phone out and swing the door shut with a hefty clanging sound.

  I guess I really did have a nightmare last night.

  Thirteen


  “She's absolutely fine,” the vet says as she carries Myrtle's crate out from one of the other rooms and sets it onto the examination table. “She's been recovering very well. She'd have been able to go home ages ago, if it hadn't been for the...”

  She pauses, before lowering her voice a little.

  “Thank you for getting the payment done before the end of the month,” she adds. “My boss'll never know that I extended that little favor to you.”

  “Thank you so much for helping us,” I reply, as she opens the door and Myrtle slinks out onto the table. “You've got no idea how worried I've been. There were moments when I thought that...”

  My voice trails off for a few seconds, and then I smile and reach out to stroke Myrtle with my right hand.

  “All that matters now is that she's healthy again,” I say, “and -”

  Suddenly Myrtle turns and hisses, and she raises a paw and swipes at my hand. I pull away, but not before several of Myrtle's claws have sliced through the side of my thumb.

  “Hey!” the vet says. “Come on, pussy cat, be a little nicer to your owner. She's just laid out a lot of money to get you fit and well again.”

  “She's never done that before,” I reply as I look at the scratches and see blood dribbling from several spots.

  I turn to Myrtle, and I see fear in her eyes. Glancing back at the wound, I suddenly notice the dark patch on my right index finger, and I can't help noticing that the black threads have extended a lot further down. I've been aware of a faint pain over the past few weeks, but I've been too busy to pay a lot of attention. Now, however, I'm starting to wonder whether I've contracted some kind of infection.

  “Come on, Myrtle,” I say, before reaching out to her again, “let's -”

  She immediately hisses and swipes at me again, and I feel another flicker of pain as her claws slash the palm of my right hand. Shaken, I take a step back, while Myrtle hisses once more and I see that her hackles are up.