Crik (47 page)

A cry drifted down the passage; the same cry Jack heard when he had first visited Knell. ‘The baby,’ he said, peering into the dark.

‘The Birdman is up there too,’ said Yang.

When Yang released his arms, Jack controlled his shiver, while the warmth seeped back into his muscles. His vantage allowed him to view both the passage back to the garden and his friends, and onward to the Birdman. Faint daylight turned the underground route behind him grey, whereas darkness swathed the way to the crying baby. Comparing the way ahead with an open cage, set to slam shut when he entered, did nothing to alleviate his trepidation.

‘Time is short,’ said Yang. ‘Down here the baby won’t survive long.’

Jack picked up the lantern. The casing, which had felt so light when Knell passed it to him, pulled down his arm. ‘You will still have to tell me why you need to live inside me.’

‘You will know soon enough,’ said Yang. Placing a finger to Paige’s lips, Yang sprang forward.

After a brooding moment’s pause, Jack followed his Narmacil toward the Birdman’s lair.

Following in the wak
e
of his shadow Jack heard the baby’s cries grow louder. Fiercely holding onto the lantern he ran through the faces Yang had shown him. Each was familiar, not as well-known as the faces back in the village, more fragments of forgotten dreams. He once owned a game made from small wooden squares, with a painted face and an accompanying name written on the bottom. His mother would describe a feature, perhaps the man had a moustache or a woman wore a hat, and he would guess who it was. Having played the game so often, he could name the character from two or three clues. That was how he identified with Paige and the others, he didn’t know them, but he could pick them out of a crowd.

The silver handle cut into his palm as he edged down the passage. A beetle’s shell glinted a sly wink before it scurried into a hole. Wishing he could also find a bolthole, he came to a twist in the passage. Ahead the ground rose in a sharp incline. Familiar red brick packed the rising floor. Spread out on the stones like a bathing lizard waited Yang. Yang dared go no farther; could he step beyond his shadow? Each wail from baby reminded him of wind passing through trees on a lonely night. His heart tripped with each new howl. It’s a baby, he told himself, trying to shake off his nerves. She needs me.

Paige’s face peeled up from the floor.

‘You didn’t want to come here; now you want me to go into the house?’ said Jack to the upraised face.

‘She’s crying Jack.’

‘Fine, if we die, remember you told me to go forward.’

‘I will,’ said Yang.

He considered the dark opening at the top of the slope rather than Paige’s solemn face. Steeling himself, he swallowed his fear, only for it to catch in his throat like a fishing hook as a chair scraped across bare boards.

The baby cried louder.

Spurred on by that desperate cry he stepped over his shadow. On all fours, he scrambled up the incline. Smells of old curtains and disused rooms wafted down from the boarded up house. Thinking of how ghosts haunted houses like this increased his anxiety. Why had he listened so keenly to Grandpa Poulis’s stories? He had worries enough without conjuring images of skeletons hanging from hooks on the wall. Yang kept close to his side as they crept forward with forced control. His heel pulled a brick loose and sent it tumbling down to the tunnel. The baby matched the stone’s raucous fall; he hoped her cries masked the tell-tale sign of his approach.

Cracked stone, caked in dust and cobwebs, took the place of the now recognizable earthen surroundings. The floor levelled off; a few feet ahead stood a closed four-panelled door. A hole left by a missing door handle formed a surprised mouth from which escaped the baby’s cries. Free of the confining tunnel, the lantern light spread through the house. His light would alert the Birdman to his presence, yet without it, he would be blind. Tightening his already ferocious hold on the small silver lantern, he rose and stepped into the house. An old carpet, with more holes than a rabbit’s warren, and thinner than dry skin, tracked through to a staircase. Thankfully, no ghostly apparition stepped down those lonely stairs. White paint, long turned to yellow and spotted black with damp, coated the intervening door between Jack, Yang, the baby, and the Birdman.

Yang gave a nod as Jack raised his palm to the door. Wet wooden panels yielded against his touch. Hinges groaned like an old man getting out of a chair as the door swung inward, opening to a room devoid of warmth. Floral wallpaper clung forlornly to the walls, its design amplifying the house’s fall into disrepair. In one corner stood a bookcase filled with forgotten titles. A cot stood on bare boards in the middle of the room, eerily rocking back and forth. An empty armchair and a small table were the room’s only other residents.

‘Behind the door,’ said Yang, pointing to the yellowed coloured wood inches from Jack’s face.

Expecting the kidnapper waited behind the flimsy barrier weakened Jack’s fingers; he anticipated the Birdman to wrestle the door from his grasp. If the baby ceased her cries, he had no doubt he’d be able to hear the man breathing like a dehydrated dog. Tremulously he eased open the door, waiting for it to come to a sudden stop. Different wallpaper swept into view; someone had drawn a happy family in crayon on the wall. Childish scrawls painted them with garish red grins and balloons over their heads. The door continued unabated to the sidewall.

‘Where is he?’ whispered Jack. Dumbfounded, Yang gave an exaggerated shrug.

Beyond his shadow, Jack spied movement from down the corridor. The swirling purple light could have tricked him again; candle light moved like smoke, creating shapes out of air. Yang refused to budge from his side; was his shadow scared to investigate? Reaching out he prodded Yang with his finger. He wasn’t surprised to find his finger hitting solid mass, as though he was in the presence of a person, and not a shadow.

‘You’re firm,’ said Jack.

‘I appreciate it if you didn’t poke me.’ His shadow rubbed where Jack had stabbed him with his finger.

‘Did I hurt you?’

Movement down the hall stopped Yang from answering. A pale smudge, renewing Jack’s fears of haunted houses, edged away from the wall. Dust rose from the old carpet as a heavy foot thumped down onto its faded pattern.

Jolted into action Jack and Yang threw themselves into the room with the cot. When the fallen foot’s echo swept through the house, the baby fell silent. Hinges groaned as Jack, with Yang’s help, swung the door shut. The doorjamb vibrated as the two leant their weight against the wood.

Silence pervaded the house. Jack held his breath, not even a ticking clock offset the quiet. With his nerve ready to break, heavy steps started up the hallway. Following the stillness, each step snapped the air like exploding fireworks. The floor thrummed with the kidnapper’s approach, making the balls of Jack’s feet jump in his shoes. Creaking wood, as the Birdman levied his foot from the floor, alerting them to his proximity to the door.

Seeking a means of escape, Jack turned from the door to find thick wooden planks nailed into the wall blocking the window. Without any other egress, he lowered himself to the hole in the door. Enough purple light seeped through the hole for him to see the outside corridor. His steps were so loud; the Birdman must be crashing down with his entire weight. Convinced he would see the kidnapper arrive at the door, didn’t prepare him for when it happened. The Birdman’s pale skin shone white; Jack had seen duller white paint. Transfixed, he could not move as the man lowered himself to the peephole. Expecting a wild eye to stare back at him, the Birdman surprised him by covering the round hole with his open mouth. Breath hissed through the aperture, making Jack gag against the rotten smell. A bloated tongue licked broken brown teeth, like a kid with a mouthful of sticky toffee.

‘You wanna hur’ me,’ whispered the Birdman. He kissed his teeth as he leaned in closer. ‘Da Witch sen’ you with burning ligh’ to hur’ me. It won’ save you. You’re not safe in ‘ere.’ 

‘We came for the baby,’ said Jack.

‘No baby.’

While they spoke, a shrill cry rose from the crib. Yang went to soothe her. A story of a boy and his dog unfolded in mime atop the shadow’s hand. Rising smoke formed the boy casting a stick for the dog. Giggles escaped the crib as the boy tripped after trying to wrestle the stick off the dog.

The Birdman’s fingertips thrummed the wood. ‘Birdies should keep you ‘way from my house. Should a no’ gone into ground. Now won’ leave.’ His tapping subsided moments before he exerted pressure against the wood.

‘Yang, help,’ cried Jack as the doorway widened. He tried to push back against the Birdman’s strength. Hinges did not groan this time, they screamed. Yang left the baby to add his weight to bar the Birdman entry. Faltering, the kidnapper redoubling his efforts eased the door open.

Defeated, Jack stumbled back into the room. The man framed in the doorway resembled a clay model made by an amateur. From his sloping brow, to the absurd length of his arms, nothing fit. Burns covered every limb, creating a weird tapestry of melted skin. He stood breathing heavily while his bloodshot eyes roamed from Jack to Yang.

‘We curse’.’ The Birdman pointed at his scars, saying, ‘My ‘ere -’ he lifted his hand to Yang. ‘- ‘is fault.’ The man’s clubfoot led the way into the room.

Noticing the man flinch against the purple light, Jack raised the lantern like a shield. ‘Let us take the baby; we don’t want to harm you.’

Whimpering, the Birdman shied away from the light. ‘Hur’ me boy, all life odders hur’ me, always hurding me. Sun mel’ me like your candle. He’s ta blame.’ He jabbed an accusing finger at Yang. ‘Demon, in ‘ere.’ Slapping his stomach left behind a red handprint. ‘Keep me in dark, in tunnel, like worms.’

From his broken speech, Jack ascertained the Birdman referred to the Narmacil. Jack had also called it a demon everyday since discovering the thing inside him. Had the Narmacil made the Birdman as he was? They shared the same distrust of the demons. Not all the scars on the man’s body had come from exposure to the sun; long criss-crossing knife cuts covered his stomach. He had tried to cut the Narmacil out of his belly. A shudder ran through him; the man was insane.

Without realising, Jack had backed into the room as far as the crib. He only became aware of it when his foot hit the crescent shaped feet. Yang stood to his side. To his surprise, Yang had taken on the guise of Inara, complete with whole legs.

‘He blames his affliction on us,’ said Yang.

‘Is he right,’ asked Jack. ‘Would he be alright if a Narmacil hadn’t leapt inside of him?’

Yang shook his head, fanning Inara’s fringe. ‘The Narmacil trapped in his body, gave the Birdman control over the blackbirds. His Talent brought the birds to the Scorn Scar, destroying this town.’

‘Look at him.’ Disgust filled Jack’s voice as the Birdman flinched from the lantern light. ‘If your kind left him alone, he wouldn’t be like this. His Narmacil did this to him.’

‘No Jack, the Narmacil did not cause his suffering. His condition stems from a rare, and cruel, skin disease.’

‘How do I know you’re speaking the truth,’ asked Jack. ‘If his demon did curse him, you wouldn’t tell me. You’d keep that to yourself, wouldn’t you?’ He prised his eyes from the whimpering man to look at his shadow. ‘You can’t prove that you wouldn’t do the same to me, if I continue to try to separate us.’

‘Keep the light up Jack,’ warned Yang, noticing Jack’s arm waiver. ‘The lantern is the only thing keeping the Birdman from us. Given the opportunity he will kill us all.’

Cowering from the purple haze the man had lost his sinister persona to become someone Jack pitied. The Birdman went to Knell in the hope of extinguishing the cause of his pain. If he blotted out the sun, could he go back to his family? Did he have anyone who would welcome him? Without the sun, there would be no reason to board up the windows. He could leave the tunnel behind. Covering the candle with a spread hand allowed the man to drop his defensive arm. Jack’s sympathy for the man died with a single sideways look from the Birdman’s deep-set eyes. Transparent madness gleamed within his glance, teasing with horrors beyond imagining. Feeling faint, he backtracked, extending the lantern above his head.

The baby started to cry as he came abreast the cot. Assured the light kept the Birdman from charging him, he turned his attention to the baby and gave a gasping cry of his own. Swaddled in rags, so dirty you wouldn’t clean your floor with them; lay the familiar black form of a Narmacil. Resembling a baby only in that it was both small and had two arms and legs. When the Hatchling had spilled from the egg, he had suffered overwhelming disgust for the Narmacil, a distaste that had driven him all the way to the Scorn Scar. Again, the same sense of violation for the creature swept through him. The Narmacil differed in one aspect from the others he had seen, the eyes of this Narmacil were pure gold, missing the characteristic silver lightning bolt.

Reeling from his discovery, Jack backed into the faded wallpaper.

‘Jack, it’s a baby,’ said Yang.

‘He’s right,’ said Jack, pointing to the Birdman, ‘that’s no baby. It’s another demon. To escape harm all it has to do is transform into a moth and fly away.’

Yang, taking the form of Bill, shook his head. ‘The baby can’t change shape. It’s different. I haven’t seen a Narmacil this young. It doesn’t know how.’

‘Do you have to go to school to learn?’

Pushing spectacles up his nose Yang stepped toward Jack, only for Jack to edge away.