The Girl With Crooked Fangs Read online

  She fell silent for a moment, as if she was studying the darkness ahead.

  “I hope there's something down there,” she added finally, with a hint of fear in her voice. “I'd hate for there to be just... darkness and emptiness. Nothing. That's way scarier than any ghost or monster.”

  “Okay,” Izzy said, checking her watch, “I have to get home, so... Good luck. Please don't go getting yourself killed, though.”

  Rita turned to her with a grin. “You don't wanna come?”

  “I'm going home,” Izzy told her again. “You should go home too. Wherever home is.”

  “Home is where the heart is.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means I'd rather be here, scavenging for shit.”

  Izzy stared at her for a moment, watching as Rita picked up a small metal chunk from the ground and slipped it into a bag that hung from her belt.

  “What do you do with all the stuff you take?” she asked finally.

  “I hang onto it for a rainy day.”

  “But why would you ever need -”

  “It's just fun.”

  “You enjoy hoarding stuff?”

  “I'm not hoarding!” Rita snapped suddenly, turning to her with a hint of irritation. “I like to be prepared, that's all. Is it a problem? Does it affect you in any way?”

  “I guess not,” Izzy replied, sensing a little hostility. “Still, you shouldn't stay down here too long by yourself. It's weird.”

  “Maybe,” Rita muttered, before stepping forward, shining the flashlight ahead so she could see her way. “Have fun on your boring walk home!” she called back. “I'll let you know if I find anything else that's really cool! You can live vicariously through my adventures!”

  “Just be careful!” Izzy shouted, before sighing and turning to walk away.

  “It's so cold down here!” Rita called out, her voice echoing a little. “Woah, I think there's a... What the hell, there's some kind of -”

  And then silence.

  Izzy stopped and waited for her to continue, before realizing Rita's voice had cut off abruptly. She paused for a moment, telling herself there was nothing to worry about, but then she glanced over her shoulder and stared at the tunnel's dark entrance, waiting for Rita to say something else. As the seconds ticked past, however, she couldn't help but feel a slow, nagging sense of concern in her chest, so she reluctantly made her way back over to the opening in the hillside. Peering into the darkness, she realized she could see Rita's flashlight on the ground, as if it had been dropped.

  “Rita?” she called out. “Are you okay in there?”

  She waited, but all she heard was her own voice echoing back at her.

  “Rita? Is this some kind of game?”

  Again, only her own voice could be heard, bouncing from wall to wall.

  “This isn't funny,” she continued, feeling tired but still not able to leave, not until she was sure that everything was okay. “Can you just cut it out? Please?”

  This time, as she waited, she couldn't help but notice that the tunnel seemed completely silent now. There was no hint of anyone moving at all, and she found it hard to believe that Rita could have already made it so far into the depths, especially without a flashlight. She hesitated, hating the idea of going any further, before finally starting to pick her way through the darkness, heading toward the abandoned flashlight.

  “This had better be a joke,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “And if it is, it's not a very funny one.”

  Reaching the flashlight, she picked it up and shone the beam straight ahead through the cold air. To her surprise, she saw that the tunnel reached a crossroads just a few meters further on, with passages running to the left and right.

  “Rita?” she called out. “Can you give me a sign, just to let me know you're okay?”

  Still hearing nothing, she stepped forward. Beneath her feet, the rocky ground gave way to a section of wooden boards, and when she reached the crossroads she shone the flashlight in both directions, hoping against hope that she might spot some sign of Rita, or maybe hear the jangling metal at her waist. Seeing only a couple of empty passageways, however, she turned and glanced back the way she'd just come, before looking all around.

  “Rita!” she shouted, her voice echoing more than ever. “I'm not coming any further! I know you're just goofing around, and I'm not gonna follow you into the darkness! Come out now, or I'm just gonna leave!”

  She waited.

  Silence.

  “I'll leave!” she called out, trying really, really hard to not sound nervous or concerned. “I mean it!”

  No reply.

  “I can't leave,” she muttered with a sigh. “Please, Rita, I'm tired and I have to get home before my Dad finds that I'm out. Please, this could cause a lot of trouble for me!”

  Silence.

  And then, suddenly, a distant scratching sound.

  Turning, Izzy shone the flashlight along the tunnel that ran to her left. The wooden boards extended for a few meters before giving way to a rocky surface, while reinforcement struts had been put in long ago to keep the ceiling from falling. The scratching sound was continuing, and although it sounded far off, Izzy couldn't shake the feeling that it was definitely being caused by an animal or a creature of some sort, and it seemed to be edging closer.

  “Very funny!” she called out, forcing herself to stay calm. “It's cold in here, okay? I don't want to get mixed up in whatever you do for fun, so can you please just come and get your flashlight so I can leave?”

  She waited, but now the scratching sound was gone.

  She sighed. “Rita -”

  “Do you hear that?”

  Almost leaping straight out of her skin, Izzy spun around and fell back at the same time, dropping the flashlight and banging her head hard against an overhanging rock.

  “Ow!” she hissed, pulling back as a laughing Rita picked up the flashlight. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

  “What's wrong?” Rita asked, laughing so hard that all the metal pieces around her waist were banging together. “Scared?” She peered closer. “You didn't hurt yourself too bad, did you? Are you bleeding?”

  “No!” Izzy snapped, running her fingers through her hair to feel the patch on her scalp that – although sore – at least wasn't actually torn. “Were you just hiding in the dark, waiting to sneak up on me?”

  “Kinda,” Rita replied. “Sorry.”

  “And that noise?”

  “That wasn't me.”

  Izzy opened her mouth to call her a liar, before realizing that Rita must have been too close to have made the scratching sound. A moment later, as if on cue, the sound returned, sounding just a little closer this time.

  Slowly, Izzy and Rita turned and shone the flashlight along the tunnel, but there was no sign of anything or anyone ahead.

  “I don't hear it every night,” Rita explained after a few seconds. “Just some nights. It comes and goes, and it never gets too close, almost as if it's unsure of me. Sometimes I feel like...”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “Like what?” Izzy asked.

  “Like... Never mind. You'd just think I'm dumb, but... Sometimes I feel like it's tracking me.”

  Izzy opened her mouth to tell her the idea was ridiculous, but somehow the words caught in the back of her suddenly-dry throat.

  “It never gets close enough for me to see it,” she continued, “but it's always there or thereabouts. Always keeping its distance, always holding back.”

  “You're exaggerating,” Izzy told her.

  “Naturally. A little. But there's definitely something down here. You heard it too.”

  “It's probably a raccoon,” Izzy suggested, as the sound continued.

  “Do you get racoons around here?”

  “Yes. Probably. I imagine.”

  “Did you hear about the dude who was found dead not far from here?”

  “No-one was found dead anywhere.”

  �
�Wrong,” Rita said matter-of-factly. “Some guy was found at one of the mine's other exits. From what I heard, all the blood had been drained from his body.”

  “That's just gossip,” Izzy said uncertainly, not wanting to admit that she vaguely remembered her father mentioning something similar. “It's probably not even true.”

  Rita paused, as if she was studying Izzy's face, before finally shrugging. “I have some passageways to explore,” she explained, “and you're right, it is getting late, so unless you wanna come with me...”

  “Which I don't!”

  “Then I guess you should head off. Pity, though. I was willing to share my swag with you fifty-fifty. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna find some cool stuff down here.”

  “To add to your belt?”

  “To add to my belt, baby.”

  “I don't want swag,” Izzy replied, turning and heading back to the turning that led out of the mine. “I just want -”

  Before she could finish, her right foot crunched straight through a rotten section of wood. Letting out a startled yelp, Izzy dropped down as the rest of her leg fell into the gap, finally getting wedged just above the knee. She felt a sharp cutting sensation in her flesh, and when she pulled her leg out she quickly found that a piece of wood had torn the side of her leg and scraped her skin.

  “Are you okay?” Rita asked, helping her away from the hole before leaning down and shining the flashlight through to see what was underneath.

  “This place is a death-trap!” Izzy hissed, relieved that the cut wasn't too deep. “What if the rest of it had broken?”

  “Woah!” Rita replied, still peering through the hole. “It's like a whole new section down there, maybe an old lift shaft or something. It looks super deep!”

  “I am out of here,” Izzy grumbled, getting to her feet and limping around the hole, heading toward the exit. “If you've got any sense, you'll come with me.”

  “I've got way too much exploring to do,” Rita muttered, clearly far more interested in the hole. Setting the flashlight down, she grabbed the rotten edges and started trying to break some more sections away. “I don't suppose you know where to get hold of some climbing gear, do you?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “He was found in a burned-out trashcan,” Doctor Natalie Laine explained, briefly holding up the sheet to reveal the charred and blackened corpse beneath. “We don't have a name, so he just needs laying out ready for cremation.”

  “And this had to get done tonight, did it?” John asked, grabbing the trolley's handles and wheeling it across the floodlit yard toward his waiting hearse. “He couldn't have stayed at the hospital overnight?”

  “You seem tense,” she replied, following and opening the hearse's rear door for him, then stepping back so he could start maneuvering the body inside. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing that won't be fixed by getting home,” he muttered, struggling with the trolley's release mechanism. “Just the usual trouble that come with being a single parent.” He pulled on a couple of different levers, each of which resolutely refused to budge. “What the hell is wrong with this damn -”

  “Here,” Natalie said with a cautious smile, reaching over and pulling the one lever he hadn't tried yet. “You shouldn't have any problems now.”

  She watched for a moment as John got on with the job of loading the body into the hearse. Although it was patently obvious that he was in a foul mood, she wasn't quite sure what she could say that might make him feel a little better. Still, she couldn't give up, not yet. There was something she wanted to ask him, something specific, something she'd been putting off for so long. It was now or never.

  “Very dusty,” she mumbled finally.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Your hearse. It's dusty inside. You should -”

  “Thank you for the advice,” he grunted, finally getting the body in position and stepping back so he could slam the door shut. “Is that everything, or are there any more of those infernal forms for me to sign?”

  “I think you got everything,” she replied, before pausing as if she was on the verge of saying something else. She could already feel the moment slipping away.

  “I have to get back,” John muttered, heading around to the other side of the hearse. “I don't like leaving my daughter alone so late.”

  “So do you know anyone who likes opera?” she asked, hurrying after him.

  He turned to her. “What?”

  “It's just, I have tickets to see this opera show on Monday night,” she continued, with a hint of hope in her eyes, “and my friend bailed, and now I'm kinda stuck with this spare ticket and I don't really want to go alone.” She paused, as if she was waiting for him to leap in and say something. “So I guess I was wondering if you know anyone who might be into something like that,” she added. “The tickets were part of this deal, it includes dinner at an Italian restaurant in town. The whole thing was quite hard to swing and...”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “Didn't you once mention something about opera?” she asked cautiously. “I've never been to the opera in my life, but I just remembered, you said it's something you kinda... enjoy?”

  “Well, yes,” he replied, clearly a little flustered, “that's right, but I'm afraid I don't think I can help you find someone for your extra ticket. I'm sorry, Doctor Laine, but -”

  “Call me Natalie,” she continued, removing her glasses for a moment before changing her mind and quickly putting them back in place. “Doctor Laine sounds so, I don't know... clinical. And formal.”

  “I'm sorry, Doctor... Natalie,” he muttered, “but I don't think I can help. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone to go with you, though. Have you tried the internet? My understanding is that a single woman can attract a great deal of attention if she puts herself on one of those dating sites.”

  “I...” She paused, before taking a step back. “Yeah. Sure. I guess I should give that a try.”

  “And now I really should get going,” he continued, opening the door and climbing into the front of the hearse. “My daughter has been acting rather strangely this evening, and I'd like to talk to her before she goes to bed.”

  “That's Izzy, right?”

  “Isobel. Yes.” He paused, before pulling the door shut. “I hope the rest of your shift goes smoothly, Doctor Laine, and I'm sure you'll find someone to go to the opera with you. Remember, the internet is your friend.”

  “Sure,” she replied, taking another step back as the hearse pulled away, leaving her standing along in the yard. “I'll... I'll try internet dating. That sounds... perfect.”

  ***

  “Come on,” John muttered a few minutes later, still trying to contact Izzy via his hands-free kit as he drove along the late-night street. “What's so important that you can't pick up the phone? Why are teenagers always so -”

  “Ac-Hoo!”

  Shocked, John glanced over his shoulder for a moment and looked toward the dead body, which was still under a white plastic sheet. He could have sworn he'd heard someone sneeze a few seconds earlier, but finally he turned and focused on the road again.

  “No need to get too jumpy,” he reminded himself, as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Stay calm, John. Focus on the task at hand.”

  ***

  “Izzy? Can you come down here for a moment?”

  Standing in the under-lit hallway, John looked up the stairs and waited for his daughter to emerge from her bedroom. He checked his watch again and saw that it was almost half eleven, and he knew full well that Izzy usually stayed up until at least midnight listening to music. Still, the house was unusually quiet and he was starting to wonder whether she might have gone to bed early.

  Either that, or...

  He didn't want to believe that she could have snuck out of the house without permission, but at the same time he also knew that she'd spent months rebuilding her mother's camera, and he figured the temptation to give it a test-run might have been too much. In normal circumstanc
es, he'd have let her go out for a couple of hours, but the situation with the bite-marks on Michael Daniels' body had spooked him, and there was no way he was willing to let her out of his sight until the danger had passed.

  Making his way up the stairs, he finally reached the door to her room and paused for a moment. There was no sound from within, so he knocked carefully and waited.

  Silence.

  “Isobel?”

  No reply.

  “Isobel, I don't want to come barging in,” he continued, “but... Can we talk for a moment? I think I left a few things unsaid over dinner, and I'd very much like the chance to correct that.”

  He waited.

  Silence.

  He knocked again.

  “You're not mad at me, are you?”

  Again, silence.

  “Isobel,” he said after a moment, “I'm being reasonable here, but the truth is, I really do need to talk to you about a few things. I noticed you seemed to be in a degree of discomfort earlier and, well, I feel I didn't quite get to the crux of the...”

  He paused, trying to work out how to broach such a delicate subject.

  “There's a talk I've been meaning to have with you,” he continued, “and it's not quite the talk I think you think it is. It's a different kind of talk, the kind of talk most fathers... most parents don't have to give to their children. But we're in an unusual situation, and I think you most likely have some very important questions that need answering. You're probably scared right now, and worried about the changes you're going through, and before you get all defensive, I'm not talking about the usual changes a girl of your age might experience. It's more...”

  His voice trailed off again as he tried to think of a better way to approach the subject. Just as he was about to continue, however, he heard a faint bump from the other side of the door.