Authors: Charles Caselton
Ollie looked at his watch. “Until four ‘o clock?”
“It was with a stylist,” Nicky gasped, “and you know how they can talk.”
Ollie nodded in sympathy.
“Good trip?” she asked.
Jake put his head to one side and thought for a second. “It was interesting,” he conceded. “I’m sure Ollie’ll tell you about it.”
Whilst Nicky caught her breath Ollie whistled for Hum.
“Where’s the hound?”
“Last seen scampering – ” Ollie gestured through to the colonnade on the near side of the chapel, “ – thataway.”
Ollie whistled again – but no Hum. For the third attempt he whistled with more authority, more threat, more of a, ‘if you don’t come back now I’ll be very angry’, kind of edge.
Nothing.
“You’d better go ahead,” he said to Jake. “Who knows where Hum might be?”
“Make sure you stop in before you go. There’s a tin of Kensal Green with your name on it,” Jake bowed his head in farewell and set off down Terrace Avenue towards the canal.
“A batch of sparkling marijuana never did anyone any harm eh?” Nicky took his arm as they wandered beneath the porticoes onto the flagstone terrace.
“Hum,” Ollie called as if he had a present for him, a frisbee perhaps, or rawhide bone. He expected the dog to come tearing out of some hiding place at any moment, to jump up – eyes sparkling with amusement – before sitting at his feet, tail wagging, awaiting the patting and petting that would tell him all was ok.
“Do you ever think of dog training?” Nicky asked, her breathing almost back to normal.
“There are times I think of little else,” Ollie replied. “Hum,” he called again, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.
Nicky put up her hand as a muffled barking was heard. “What was that?”
Ollie listened but the unclear sound had stopped. “Hum?” Again they heard a muted barking. They followed the sound, which appeared to be coming from the side of the chapel. Ollie whistled once and was rewarded with another round of barking. “It sounds like he’s scared but where is he?”
They ran to the back of the chapel, soon discovering a metal grille about eighteen inches wide that lined the side of the building.
“What’s down there?” Nicky asked.
“The cellars or foundations I imagine.”
“Hum!” Nicky’s call brought forth a pattering of feet. “Here he is!”
The dog, looking snug in his little red jacket, appeared out of the darkness below them.
“How did you get down there?” Ollie asked in exasperation.
Hum gave a friendly bark in reply before heading back into the shadows.
“Hum!” Ollie put the authoritarian tone in his voice. It did the trick. The hound returned under the grille. He looked
at the worried faces above him, wagged his tail and grinned before vanishing into the darkness once more.
“Dog school, dog school, dog school,” Ollie muttered. “Try and keep him here if he comes back.”
“How??”
“I’ll go and see if anyone’s around.” Ollie dashed to the front of the building but the chapel, as always, was closed. A clumsily typed notice on the door told him that tours of the cemetery and catacombs took place every Sunday at 2:00pm. Ollie suddenly had a dreadful thought. He ran back to where Nicky waited above the grille.
“Can’t we just leave him there for a couple of days?” Nicky said. “It might teach him a lesson.”
“It’s tempting,” Ollie had to admit, “but I think we should get him out as soon as possible because – ”
“You’re too soft on him Ol.”
“ – because I think he’s in the catacombs.”
Nicky came to the realisation Ollie had come to moments before. “You don’t mean – ?”
“I do. Imagine the fun he would have with shrouded corpses.”
“Or human bones,” Nicky shuddered, macabre images of a marrow-hungry Hum filling her mind.
They quickly found what they were looking for. Beside the colonnade a section of metal grille had rusted and collapsed inwards. About ten feet below stone glistened damp and hard. Looking down they could see a narrow ledge running halfway along the wall.
“If nothing else we’ll at least be able to get back out.”
“We?” Nicky asked.
“Of course,” Ollie began lowering himself through the narrow space. “I’m not going in there alone.”
Cursing Hum, Nicky followed. Her feet easily found the
ledge and from there she jumped to the floor, landing beside Ollie with a thump that echoed across the flagstones.
“Are you ok?” Ollie whispered.
“Sort of.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Hum,” Ollie muttered. “What might it do to a stupid hound?”
Or an even stupider human? Nicky thought unhappily.
Ollie lifted the collar of his coat and pulled it tighter around him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. He could see a passage stretching into the darkness at the end of which was another dim shaft of light. That must be the other side of the chapel Ollie realised. He could also make out the outline of another passage cutting through the middle of the building.
“Hum!” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” Nicky said out loud. “Who’s going to hear you?”
“Who’s going to hear me?” Hearing his own voice gave Ollie a measure of confidence. With a hint of a swagger he set off into the unknown and rather scary.
“Wait for me!” Nicky hurried behind him.
Floor-to-ceiling archways lined the passage. Some were caged with iron bars, some had been bricked up and others were closed by solid iron doors with elaborate gothic locks.
“As if dying wasn’t bad enough imagine being put somewhere like this!” Ollie exclaimed.
“D’you hear anything?”
Ollie stopped and listened but there was nothing to alert him to Hum’s presence. All that could be heard was an occasional dripping as water seeped from the ground above into the underground chambers. There was no hint of the traffic or trains, nor of the planes stacking overhead getting ready to land at Heathrow.
“It’s so quiet,” Ollie said amazed. “Some might say a deathly hush filled the space.”
Nicky gave a reluctant chuckle, more of nervousness than of mirth, “Or a deadly silence.”
A sudden shiver flared down Ollie’s spine. He jumped swiftly to the centre of the passage, the vision of skeletal hands reaching through the bars had suddenly become unbearable.
Nicky whistled softly. “Hum!” she implored, but there was nothing, not a distant bark, not a muffled patter of paws, nothing.
Coming to the main passage Ollie looked up and down to find countless other corridors opening off it in some strange subterranean grid.
Nicky whistled again and was rewarded by a flash of colour running across the centre passageway several corridors up. In his little red coat, she thought, this was too Julie Christie, too
Don’t Look Now
for words.
Ollie strode purposefully onwards until something happened to stop him in his tracks. He felt it first around his face as it exploded up from the ground. Yelling with both hands raised he pushed it away and jumped back, still pummelling the air with his hands. This incident caused Nicky’s already frayed nerves to shred further. Unable to restrain herself she let out an alarming scream.
It took a while for them to realise what had happened, even longer for their hearts to slow down. The startled pigeon fluttered a few yards down the nearest side corridor before stopping and twitching nervously.
“Go towards the light!” Ollie shooed the bird towards the dim glimmer at the end of the passage. The bird hopped a few steps but was unsure. “Towards the light!” he hissed, feeling uncomfortably like a new age guru preaching to his disciples.
“Set it free Ol!”
“But – ” Ollie was unsure on two counts; unsure whether he could catch the poor bird even if he wanted to and unsure whether he could find his way back to the broken grille anyway. He took a deep breath in the hope it would make the decision making easier. “Maybe this is his home,” he reasoned. “Maybe freeing it would leave a nest of hungry chicks – ” before Nicky could comment Hum’s familiar bark was heard. Saved from the ornithological dilemma Ollie moved quickly on, his eye taken by faint phosphorescence on the wall ahead of him.
Nicky had also seen the odd gleaming. “Is that a light switch?”
“I bet it doesn’t work,” Ollie jabbed the button with his fist. To his relief three bare bulbs, evenly spaced along the dank walls, fizzled into action. Lines of side passages stretched before him in the wan glow. The entrances to some were closed with thick doors whilst others remained open.
“There he is!” Ahead of them Hum slipped into a side corridor through a heavy door open ajar. “Come here!” Ollie ordered now totally fed up with the hound. “I have three words for you Hum – ” he said the words slowly and clearly: “Battersea. Dogs. Home.”
As if to express the dog’s indifference the lights chose that moment to go out.
“I’ll get it,” Ollie fumbled his way back towards the switch. As he pressed the oddly luminescent circle he jumped back screaming, feeling warm flesh and fingers beneath his own.
When the lights flickered into their dull wattage what Ollie saw caused the cry to die in his throat and to rise in Nicky’s. Illuminated in the glow was a bald man with an impressive purple birthmark across the centre and side of his head. Ollie knew who it was in a second – the unfriendly
cemetery guard who had been sniffing around Rion’s place on the canal.
Gorby also recognised Ollie.
“I – ” Ollie began but his chest was still constricted with fear.
“How did you get down here?” Gorby asked in a mystified, although slightly menacing, tone.
“My dog – ” Ollie took in a huge gulp of air, “ – must have fallen through somewhere.”
In the silence the guard slowly looked Ollie up and down. “Haven’t we spoken about this sort of thing before?” he asked.
Ollie knew full well they had but refused to answer.
“If he’d been on a lead this wouldn’t have happened.”
“And if the area around the chapel hadn’t been so unsafe this wouldn’t have happened,” Nicky retorted. “Imagine if a child had fallen down here, you need signs at the front warning of the danger.”
Feeling the guard’s eyes on him caused an involuntary shiver to ripple through Ollie’s body.
“Where’s the dog now?” Gorby asked.
As if on cue a snarling was heard from where Hum had vanished moments before.
Ollie made for the corridor with the huge door open ajar, but was stopped by the guard. “Stay here,” Gorby ordered.
As another snarling was heard, this time louder, Ollie pushed past the guard, “You want me to get my dog I’ll get him!”
Quickly followed by Gorby and Nicky, Ollie shoved open the heavy door. He found himself in a side corridor like all the others. Several of the vaults in this smaller passage had been bricked up although some remained caged and open to view. Light spilled from under one closed with a door.
It was from this one that again the snarling began.
“Hum!” Ollie called.
The door to the vault opened a crack and a man with tightly set eyes peered out. He held the struggling, snapping dog at arm’s length in front of him. Just as it seemed Hum was going to deliver a nasty nip to his captor the man dropped him, nodded to the guard and quickly closed the door. The dog continued pawing at the iron door upon which a coat of arms could be seen. Ollie picked Hum up, held him close and took a quick glance through the spyhole. Even though it was made for inside looking out Ollie could see a blurred image of what looked like three people.
“It’s a private vault,” Gorby pulled Ollie away from the peephole. With one arm firmly around the young man and the other around Nicky, the guard shepherded them out of the passage.
Inside the Rosleagh vault Beck had his hand over Rion’s mouth while Senior stood with his back against the door. In a fury Rion bit into Beck’s fingers. “Help!” she yelped before Senior and his twin restrained her.
The dog struggled in his arms upon hearing the stifled cry. “What was that?” Ollie asked.
Gorby gave no indication of having heard anything. “What was what?” he asked impatiently.
“Didn’t you hear it?” Nicky, unsure whether she had heard anything or not, spoke up in support of Ollie.
“Hear what?” the guard firmly closed the door before they could go back to the small corridor. “I must ask you to leave. Our clients come here to be with their loved ones. They do not appreciate intrusion in any form.” Gorby gestured for them to follow him down the central passageway, “Please.”
Ollie looked back, he sensed something was going on but didn’t know what to do.
Gorby again began to shepherd them down the centre passageway. “Please,” he said more firmly.
They shrugged off the guard’s grip and followed.
“What are your names?” Gorby took a small pocketbook from his jacket.
Without thinking Ollie answered, “Oliver Michaelson.” He could have kicked himself as the words spilled out. How many times had he told Nicky never to give your real name to officials in dodgy situations?
Nicky remembered Ollie’s oft-repeated advice even if he hadn’t. “Carina Fitzboodle,” she replied coolly.
Gorby jotted the names down, snapped the notebook shut with a flourish and returned it to its place. After twenty yards he turned off the centre passageway onto some narrow stone stairs that wound their way up to the ground level. Nicky and Ollie followed a few paces behind, Ollie inwardly cursing his own stupidity.
They walked in silence through the neglected chapel, its once grand ceiling depicting the heavens now sadly showing signs of decay, before leaving through the main entrance.
“Keep your dog on a lead,” Gorby said.
Before Ollie could think of a suitable reply the enormous chapel door clanged shut behind him.
“I can’t believe you gave him your real name!” Nicky said astounded. “How many times – ?”
“I know. I know,” Ollie stood under the Doric columns. After a few seconds lost in thought he turned to his friend, “There were three people in that vault.”
“Are you sure?”
“No – well, yes, – I think so,” he kicked the ground in exasperation. “God Nicky – who knows?”
Nicky put her arms around him, “Maybe they were just mourners like he said.”