“Dorran, answer me.”
A thud disturbed the stillness. She swung in its direction. Her candle flickered. She had never been bothered by the dark before, but at that moment, Clare felt as though she would rather die than be lost in the shadows in the basement. She held her hand around the flame to protect it and only began breathing again when the flame stabilised.
Soft, thudding footsteps echoed out of the darkness. Clare lowered her hand and squinted through the gloom. If Dorran was responsible for the sounds, he was working without a light. She took a step closer then another. Someone drew in a deep, rasping breath. She passed a tall wooden shelf. On it, dusty glass objects glittered. Wine bottles, maybe?
The scraping noise became louder. It hurt Clare’s ears and made her teeth ache. She silently begged it to stop. Motion became visible through the shadows ahead. Someone or something was bent low near a stone wall. Clare’s thin light was just enough to let her see shoulders rising and falling.
“Dorran?”
The figure turned towards her. Eyes glinted—horrible, inhuman eyes peering out from behind long, greasy hair. Then the figure darted away, escaping from her circle of light, disappearing into a narrow doorway in the stone wall.
A sharp, broken scream cut through the cold air. Clare didn’t realise it had come from her until she felt the ache in her throat. She stumbled backwards, and her shoulders hit one of the shelves. Muffled clinking noises surrounded her as the bottles rocked.
She couldn’t stop shaking. The thudding footsteps echoed around her, beating fast, like her own heart. The scraping noise joined it, louder this time. It surrounded her and overwhelmed her.
“Clare?” The voice was faint.
She turned towards it. In the distance, golden light glinted through the shadows. It promised safety. She ran for it. Her shin hit one of the shelves. She fell, gasping as cold stone scraped her hands and jarred her bandaged arm. A wave of pain rushed through the limb. The candle skittered over the floor and died in a splutter of wax.
“Clare!”
Footsteps drew nearer. She tried to stand, but trapped in the darkness and choking on the pain, she was too disoriented. She stumbled again and bent over, trying not to be sick. Then arms were around her, pulling her up. She was surrounded by warmth. When she opened her eyes, a lamp, larger and stronger than her own candle, was sitting beside her feet. It cut through the shadows to create a little oasis of light.
Dorran held her up so that she rested against his shoulder. He kept her steady, one hand on her back, the other holding her hand. His voice was tense. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
She sucked in ragged, uneven breaths. Her tongue felt heavy. She couldn’t form the words, and they fell out in an incoherent slurry. “I saw someone.”
“Clare?”
She shook her head, her mind a jumble. “I… I was looking for you.”
“Ah.” He exhaled. “Forgive me. This is the wine cellar. It is my fault—I should have shown you where to find the door to the basement.”
His hands were unexpectedly warm. The numbness was fading, but the panic was not. Clare glanced behind them, at the wall. “There—there’s someone down here.”
“What?”
Clare raised a hand towards where she’d seen the hunched shape. “I saw someone. I… I think it was a woman. She came out of the door in the far wall.”
Dorran stared into the darkness, confusion clear on his face, then he looked back at her. “Clare, there are no doors in the cellar. Just stairs leading to the main floor.”
“But…” She paused for a second, trying to clear the panicked fog from her head and the tightness from her voice. “There was a woman. She was digging at something. Digging at the stones, I think. When I got closer, she ran into the tunnel. It’s right there.” She pointed again. The lamplight, although stronger than the candle, still couldn’t reach the walls.
Dorran was silent. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Show me.”
He helped her to her feet. She stumbled, and he put his arm around her back to hold her steady then picked up the lamp with his spare hand. Moving cautiously, Clare led him past the shelves. Shadows danced around them with every step, slinking across the stone walls and darting over the ceiling. A thousand dust-caked bottles glittered out of the gloom.
Clare came to a halt facing the stretch of wall where she’d seen the woman. She was sure it was the right place. She recognised the erratic stone tiles lining the floor. But the doorway was gone.
“I…” Her throat tightened. She stepped out of Dorran’s support and approached the wall. The spot where there had been a gaping opening was nothing but rough, interlocked stones. She pressed her hands against them, feeling around the cracks, as she tried to make sense of it. “It was… I…”
“Clare.”
“It was right here!”
“Clare.” Dorran came up behind her and gently pulled her back from the wall.
Tears stung her cold face. She stared along the wall’s length, scanning both directions, but the surface was unbroken. There was a woman crouched on the ground. Crouched and scrabbling at the stone. When she saw me, she ran through the doorway that was right here. Right here…
She felt like she was unravelling. Her mind was fracturing, the pieces floating away, and as fast as she tried to grasp them and pull them back in, more were lost.
But she and Dorran were alone in the basement. There were no noises and no rasping breaths. They were the only ones there, encased in their little globe of light. And he was watching her, concern thick around his eyes, waiting for her to speak.
“I’m not crazy,” she whispered.
“No. Of course you’re not.” He pulled her closer, one hand brushing across her shaking back. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I didn’t imagine it.” Her voice cracked. She didn’t know if he’d heard her.
“The light must have been creating tricks for your eyes. This house—it plays with your mind, especially if you are not familiar with it. It is a damned waking nightmare.” He was trying to give her an escape, an excuse.
And with the empty wall stretching endlessly behind them, she had no choice but to take it. “Yes.”
“Let’s get you back upstairs, where it’s warmer. And I’ll find you something to drink. You will feel better once you’re out of this maze of a wine cellar.”
She nodded. Her mind was at war, killing itself as it tried to hold on to reality. Dorran kept his hand on her back as he turned her towards the stairway. Clare stopped at its base and stared up, suddenly exhausted. The stairs seemed to go on forever.
“Here.” Dorran pulled her against his chest, scooped one arm under her legs, and lifted her as though she weighed nothing.
Clare clutched at his shirt but didn’t try to argue. He held her carefully, her head tucked in at his neck, as he carried her up the stairs and back into the main parts of the house. He was warm. Slowly, she relaxed her grip.
“Bed or fireplace?” he asked as he climbed to the third floor.
“Fire.” That was an easy question to answer. She was starved for warmth.
Dorran used his shoulder to bump the bedroom door open, then he placed her on the fireside rug. The embers were near dead, and the heat was leaking out of the room. Dorran knelt and fed wood into the fire until it was crackling again. Then he draped a quilt over Clare’s shoulders. “Will you be all right on your own for a moment?”