Down, down, down, further into the earth.
At the bottom of the staircase was an opulent living room, bathed in pools of golden light. My head swum briefly as I orientated myself. I’d come in through the basement, but there was the front door. I had to be deep underground. Through the windows was that same packed earth encompassing the house. I tried not to think about the crushing weight of all that soil against the walls, and turned my attention to the room.
Two emerald velvet couches sat either side of a chic marble and brass coffee table laden with fruit and canapes. Candles fluttered in more little coloured glass tealight holders, and a thick embroidered curtain hid the kitchen from view. Somewhere close by, music was playing. The place was done up for an intimate celebration, a party for two, which I guess this was. I thought about how the bedroom had looked upstairs. I wondered if there was more rot and decay hiding beneath this shining mirage, too.
On the coffee table, a wreath of redcurrants shone like a crown of luscious jewels round a small pile of pomegranates in a golden bowl, all garnished with a scattering of mint leaves. A bottle of champagne, as green and inviting as the sofas, stood casually off-centre, wrapped in a crisp white napkin as if it were an attending waiter. By its side, two sparkling coupes were filled to the brim with dancing, golden fizz reflecting the light from the open fireplace.
Well, that’s a trap if ever I saw one.
I didn’t need much knowledge of folklore to know you never eat or drink anything in… wherever this was. My neighbour clearly thought I was stupid. I eyed the corners and behind the furniture.
Where was that music coming from?
The soft gentle strains of an earnest female singer gave way to a pulsing beat and a short, repeating melody. Of all the furniture and decoration in the room, I couldn’t see any radios, or record players or speakers or anything that could be playing music. Despite this, the music was getting louder.
Unce-unce-unce-unce
The baseline crept up my spine, rattling my bones and fuzzing in my ears. The repetition was just short enough to annoy. Like a story that never really starts. I grimaced as it got louder and louder. I searched with more urgency, to make it stop. There was a muffle to the sound, as if it were coming from another room, or next door in my house, or perhaps in the curtained-off kitchen. I held up my arms and pushed my elbows in around my ears, holding the axe above my head. I frowned. I was wary about what I would find in the kitchen. But this was the journey and I was committed now. The only way out was through.
I took a deep breath and pulled back the curtain.
The music hit me first. And then the cold.
I stood in a pool of orange streetlight in front of a painted door with an intercom. A low insistent buzz told me my finger was pressing the trades button. I jumped back and snatched my hand away from the buzzer. I was outside one of the red brick tenements opposite my old flatshare. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see my old home, but nothing was there but the darkness all around me. That and the loud dance music coming from the window next to the main door.
Oh God. I know what this is.
Sure enough, the axe in my hand had been replaced with the clean, barely used hammer from the DIY set I’d left behind during my exodus from Edinburgh. It still had that new blue tinge to the metal along the claw end.
The door clicked open. I hid the hammer behind my back.
A wiry young man with a shaved head and hollow cheeks slouched over me in the doorway.
“What do you want?”
His breath stank of old cigarettes. My throat went dry. My palms felt slick with sweat.
He frowned at me, then eyed my shoulder, my elbow.
“What’ve you got?”
I wanted to run. I didn’t. He leant round me, quick, flitting movements like a hummingbird or a fox. He caught sight of the hammer and stopped.
CHAPTER 49
In my old fantasies, this would be the moment when his eyes would widen with understanding and then fear. He’d raise his hands, palms up, head shrinking back into his shoulders. I wouldn’t have to say a word. He’d nod his head and back up and say, “Keep the noise down. Got it. Sorry, pal.” Then he’d creep back inside and out of view for a moment and the music would stop. He would peer out sheepishly and ask, “All good now, yeah?” And, again, I wouldn’t have to say a thing. I’d just raise my chin and casually sling the hammer up onto my shoulder. I’d turn slowly, eyes still on him, so he knew I’d be watching, and then I’d return home triumphant. Badass.
I had the distinct feeling that wasn’t going to happen here.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
He pushed the door open wider, beckoned me in with a nod of his head and disappeared inside. I hesitated on the threshold, hammer held behind me, my hand clammy on the handle. The light above me on the pavement went out. I jumped inside. Darkness swallowed the space I’d inhabited. The music suddenly grew louder.
I entered a communal stairwell similar to all the others I’d seen in Edinburgh’s various tenements. Concrete walls painted in two tones of gloss pressed in on either side, and an iron balustrade with a wooden handrail spiralled up to the floors above. The only light came from an open door to a flat on the ground floor.
“You thought a hammer would scare me”—the gaunt young man leant against the wall between me and the open door—“didn’t you?”
Coloured lights bounced through the doorway behind him. The unce-unce-unce-unce rattled my teeth, yet I could still hear the man speaking, his voice raspy and hushed. His eyes, heavy-lidded and unblinking, regarded me coldly.
