Nocturnes

“Like oil, but worse,” said Molton. “Nasty stuff.”

“It was fresh, as though it had been poured over the rim recently. Now why do you suppose someone would do that?”

He hefted his ax in his hand.

“To discourage us?” Molton suggested.

“To discourage something,” answered Clements. “Perhaps that’s what was meant by ‘precautions.’ ”

“It would take us a long time to get back to the village,” said Molton. “Even then, what would we tell them?”

“Nothing that they don’t already know, I expect,” said Clements.

“Well, we’re here now,” Molton concluded. “Might as well take the shilling tour as the tuppe

Once again, he assumed the lead, puffing slightly as he made his way down the rope. Clements watched his light grow smaller and smaller, like a life force slowly dwindling. He swatted the thought away. Nearly there now, he thought. Another ten feet, another five-

Suddenly, the rope was wrenched from his hands, almost dragging him over the side with it. Pressing the sole of his boot against a hollow in the base of the rock, he attempted to arrest his progress, the smell of burning leather assailing his nostrils. Somehow Molton must have fallen. Perhaps he had missed the ledge, or they had misjudged its weight-bearing capacity.

“Hold on!” he shouted. “Hold on, Molton! I’ve got you.”

But then, almost as soon as it had begun, the rope stopped its movement. Breathing hard, Clements tied it firmly around a stalagmite and scrambled to the edge. He leaned over, the lantern in his hand, and saw Molton’s light on the ledge below. The rope was there too, winding into the shadows where the lantern could not reach.

“Molton?” he shouted.

There was no reply.

He tried again, and thought he detected sounds of scuffling from below.

“Hello! Molton!”

The noises ceased.

Clements thought for a moment. It was clear now that Molton was injured, or worse, although Clements had no idea how the accident had occurred. He would have to descend and tend to his companion as best he could before seeking assistance from the world above. Most of the food was in Molton’s pack, but Clements had the first-aid kit, as well as some of the chicken. He would leave it all with Molton before ascending, he thought, as he checked the rope before making his way down to his friend.

He carefully descended, wary now of what lay beneath. Three feet from the ledge, he paused. The stone face of the chasm was more uneven here, with hollows and crevasses. The ledge itself, though, was relatively smooth. Molton’s cap rested upon it, beside the remains of his lantern, which had shattered upon impact.

Clements allowed himself to slide down the remaining feet of rope and touched the rock gingerly with his feet. It felt firm, as he had expected it would. After all, he had heard no sound of collapse when the rope began to burn through his hands. Whatever had occasioned the accident, it was not the ledge giving out beneath Molton’s weight.

Clements placed his feet firmly on the rock, then tried to find some trace of his friend. He picked up the rope and began to follow it, tracing it across the ledge and behind a rocky outcrop. There it disappeared into what appeared to be a narrow cavern, accessible through a cleft in the rock face.

Lantern raised, Clements approached the entrance.

“Molton?” he called.

Again, he heard sounds of movement. He extended his arm, attempting to illuminate the space within…

And caught sight of the upper half of Molton’s body, lying flat upon the ground. His face was turned toward Clements, and his eyes were wide open. Blood flowed from the corners of his mouth, but his lips appeared gummed up by a white sticky material. Molton reached out his right hand, and Clements was about to enter the cavern to take it when the older man’s body shuddered and he slid some inches to his right. As Clements raised the lantern, he saw that Molton’s legs had almost entirely disappeared into a hole at the base of the cavern wall, drawn inward by some unseen force. There were more paintings here, but Clements barely registered their presence as he laid down the lamp and gripped his companion beneath the arms. Neither did he take time to examine the bones strewn upon the floor, the corrosion upon them a testament to the age of those from whom they had come.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

There came another tug on Molton’s body, this time drawing him forward almost to the level of his waist, where any further progress was arrested by his girth. Whatever was pulling him toward it paused in its efforts, either disturbed by the sound of Clements’s voice or by the fact that it was unable to haul its catch farther into its lair.

Molton held on tightly to Clements’s arm.

“It’s not taking you anywhere, old man,” said Clements. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you go.”

He took a firmer grip on Molton’s chest.

“On three,” he said. “One. Two.”

Molton tensed himself as Clements pulled.

“Three!”

A warm spray struck Clements’s face and he was momentarily blinded as Molton was freed. The two men stumbled back against the wall, Molton shaking uncontrollably as Clements struggled to clear his vision. Slowly, Clements felt Molton grow still. He looked down and saw the life leave the remains of his companion.

Whatever was drawing Molton into the hole had proved reluctant to cede its prey, for his lower body was almost entirely missing, apart from a section of his left leg, which already appeared to be rotting on the bone, turning to fluid even as Clements watched.

Clements scrambled away, trying hard to keep his breakfast down.

“Christ!” he shouted. “Oh Christ.”

And in the light of the lantern he glimpsed motion through the hole at the base of the rock. A sprinkling of black eyes gleamed, and Clements saw palps test the air, and venom drip from elongated fangs. A great stink seemed to rise from inside the chamber, and then legs appeared, spiny and jointed, each more than two feet long, as the spider began to force a way through the gap. Clements could see others moving behind it, could hear the dull scraping of their bodies as they brushed against one another. He responded with the best weapon he had to hand. Gripping the lantern, he flung it as hard as he could at the emerging creatures. The lantern shattered instantly, sending flames shooting up the cavern wall and dousing the spiders in burning oil as Clements fled, using the light from the flames to spy the rope dangling before him. He gripped it and began to climb, listening for any sounds coming from below, until he felt the upper ledge beneath his fingers. There he paused, and with his pocketknife he cut the rope that led down before lighting his remaining lantern in preparation for the last ascent back to the world he knew. He stood and gave the dangling rope a single pull. There was a momentary resistance before it fell from above and landed in a heap at his feet.

Clements looked up and heard a goat bleating.

Poor beggar. He’ll be hungry soon.

Sounds rose from below, the faintest contact of flesh upon stone, and he knew the creatures were starting to scale the rock face. He clutched his ax to his chest as a scratching noise came from above him. Clements looked up and thought he could detect movement in the shadows. A rock dislodged far to his right, and although he listened hard he could not hear it strike the base of the cavern. Now there was movement all around him, slowly drawing closer to the ledge upon which he sat. In the light of the lantern he fell to his knees and listened to the approach of the creatures, venom already dripping on him from the unseen fangs above.

Clements rose to his feet. He sensed the creatures had stopped, and knew that they were preparing to strike. He thought of Molton, and their times together.