As I looked around, I saw that there were several side corridors opening off this aisle, and along all of them were the roll-away steel doors of the individual storage units. Most of the doors had been left open by their previous tenants. A few hung half shut, as if they were jammed on their runners. They loomed like dark caves. Anything could be waiting in there.
Chuck’s unit was about a third of the way down the corridor. By the time we reached it, we had passed three intersecting hallways that stretched off beyond the range of our goggles. From inside his jacket, Chuck unfolded a canvas backpack that looked like it could hold a lot of clocks. He was quick with key in the lock on his storage unit door.
The steel door clanked as it rolled up on its runners. The sound rolled through the building like thunder. Chuck revealed his cache – a unit stacked almost floor to ceiling with boxes of Baby Ben alarm clocks.
“Be quick about it,” Sorren said.
Within a couple of minutes, Chuck had stuffed his bag full of clocks. He riffled in a faded and stained duffle bag that was near the door, pulling out several pieces of government-issue equipment that I doubted he picked up at a scratch and dent sale. He slipped the items into his pack or pockets without explanation, then locked the door and shouldered into the backpack.
“Show us the way,” Sorren said. I could tell his patience was wearing thin. Every moment we lingered was more opportunity for the demon in Building Four to figure out ways to keep us from getting where we wanted to go.
“Over here,” Chuck said. “Down this way.”
I figured it was a toss-up as to where we were safest. Inside the building, we had its resident spooks to deal with, but the demon might not see us coming. Outside, we were more likely to be spotted, and there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be just as many homicidal ghosts, bloodthirsty akrevon minions or spirit-sucking shadow men waiting for us.
“Do you feel it?” I murmured to Lucinda. “There are things all around us, watching. And I don’t think it’s the spiders.” The storage building was oppressively silent. Darkness stretched in all directions, and with the night goggles, it was harder to tell shadows from shadow men. Even so, I had the feeling that the darkness just beyond our goggles’ range down the side corridors was full of spirits, energy and supernatural somethings – none of it good.
“Uh huh,” she replied, and I heard her say something under her breath. The smell of pipe smoke wafted past us. I could hear her singing softly but I could not make out the words.
“It’s trying to goad us into running,” Chuck said. “It likes us being scared.” I could hear the defiance in Chuck’s voice. He didn’t like being pushed, and his anger and headstrong nature gave him the power to overcome his fear.
As we moved further into the darkened building, it grew colder, much colder than anything without air conditioning gets in the summer in Charleston, even at night. The feeling of being watched was overpowering. The smell changed, too. When we first entered, the building smelled of dust and mildew and stale air. Now, the scent had changed. It reminded me of a mausoleum I had once gone into with Sorren, retrieving another artifact. The smell of dust mingled with death, rotted fabric, and moldering wood. The resonance was stronger the deeper in we went, too. Left-over emotions and memories clung to the empty units: dashed hopes, abandoned dreams, interrupted plans.
It was worst near the units that still had locks, the ones that were still filled with their owners’ cast-off possessions. I swear the stuff in those units knew it had been left behind and resented it. People don’t pay to store trash. The things they put into storage they either mean to come back for, before life interrupts, or feel that they can’t let go of, even if they don’t want it around.
Even if they don’t know it, the objects have a hold on them: memories, guilt, obligation. Sometimes, that hold is supernatural. I had the feeling that was the case with much of what was left in these units. I wish I could have told the owners that you can’t abandon bad mojo. It will wait for you, find you, and track you down. The abandoned units were brooding, and like a drunk in a bad mood, they were looking for someone to take it out on.
Our plan was simple. Find the demon. Fight the demon. Kill the demon.
The devil was in the details.
Sorren, Mirov, and Chuck had discussed strategy at length, with Lucinda, Teag and I chiming in with ideas. Our biggest problem was that we didn’t know exactly where the demon’s nest was. Chuck was certain it was Building Four, but even that was a big place. There were lots of places to hide. We were counting on Lucinda and me being able to narrow it down when we got close to the building, so that we didn’t go in a door that put us right on top of the demon, but didn’t enter so far away that the demon had a chance to prepare.
Assuming, of course, that the demon didn’t already know we were coming.
The air felt heavy, the way it does before a storm. The darkness seemed more opaque, and the feeling of being watched intensified. Not just watched – resented. Every instinct told me that I needed to run the other way. We kept going.
I was glad Sorren was up front with Chuck. I knew that Sorren could see just fine in the dark without needing goggles. Lucinda was still chanting and singing in a low voice, and I caught another whiff of pipe smoke.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of motion in the shadows. Teag saw it, too.
“Spirit lights,” he murmured. “Very faint, but definitely there.”
“The spirits know we’re coming,” Lucinda said, her voice roughened by the chanting. “They know.”
Somewhere inside the building, I heard footsteps on the concrete floor. They stopped, and then to the right, I heard the screech of something dragged across the thin metal siding on the walls of the units.
Down the length of the corridor, the latches on the closed doors began to vibrate as if the compound were shaking in an earthquake.
Behind us, one of the open storage unit doors crashed down, then another, and another, starting at the far end of the corridor and rolling toward us like a tide. I felt a surge of power flow past us, sending the doors nearest us slamming to the floor. I knew the steel panels didn’t slide that easily on their runners. Something was making its displeasure very clear.
We got to the end of the corridor. I was starting to glimpse faces in the shadows, gray figures of the ghosts of this cursed land. The figures shifted in the gloom, at times becoming more defined, then dissolving into nothing. I couldn’t make out the details, but I knew who they were. Hanged pirates.
Wronged businessmen and hardluck women. Victims of Jeremiah Abernathy’s court and Moran’s demon. Too many restless souls, too much blood-soaked ground. The demon’s power drew the spirits, gave them energy, but they were here before the demon came, and some of them would be here after the demon was destroyed. Too much blood had been shed for me to think we could exorcise this unhallowed ground in just one night—or maybe ever.
Sorren turned to the rest of us. “We go out this door, cross a driveway, and go into the door on the end of Building Four. That’s where I need everyone’s senses on alert.” He looked at me and then at Lucinda. “Chuck says he’s seen activity at the northern end. That’s the opposite corner, a straight shot.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Once we go in, it’s on.”
The storage unit was not the ideal place to confront a demon. Problem was, there isn’t really a good place. We might have lured the demon out, using one of us like bait, but that introduced so many variables – and the possibility that a passer-by could get caught up in the firefight – that we took that idea off the table early. Going to the demon on its home turf was suicidal, no matter how many movies show the hero fighting a dragon in its lair. What makes a great movie doesn’t usually play well in real life.