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Excerpt - Tartarus
She drove her way back down towards The
Cage, despite Sharon’s warnings. She had to go down there.
She had to check out this Jason Everett. Find out what he knew. She put her
library forms safely in her glove compartment and promised herself that she
would fill them out later. She gritted her teeth as she drove downwards,
passing their flat. That was if she made it.
She still had no idea about what had happened last night. Swearing suddenly,
she touched her neck. She had forgotten to ask Sharon for another amulet.
“Bollocks.” She
probably should have turned back then and got it- or even better- maybe she
should have stayed there- but she carried on. She absently locked her doors. It
took her another fifteen minutes drive on a continual downwards spiral before
she could see the spires of The Cage.
“Good,” she grumbled. Her head was starting to feel dizzy. Parking it where
Sharon had parked her worn out beetle the other day, she took a deep breath.
She fancied a gin and tonic but guessed that maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea
right now. She needed to keep a clear head.
“For Megan,” she said quietly to herself. Her head touched the wheel as she
said a silent prayer to no one in particular. She shook herself and unlocked
her doors. Her pole made a clinking sound as she settled it roughly on the
ground like a staff as she got out of the van. It was much warmer down here
than it was on Level One. She heard music playing. What time was it? Was The
Cage open all day every day? She figured that it must be near six and locked
up.
Diane looked at the blackness surrounding her. Everything seemed as though it
was covered in a layer of scuttling beetles, their backs glinting in the dim
light. She shook her head, feeling nauseous.
“Concentrate,” she breathed as she started to walk towards the club. She had to
do this. It was for Megan. It was all for Megan. There was no queue or bouncers
at the door. She frowned as she peered through the dark glass. It was too dark
to see anything, but music could be heard. She gave the door a push and swore
when it wouldn’t budge.
“Fuck.” She bashed her pole down onto the ground in frustration, wishing to
split the world in two at the impact. Moving it away, she frowned at the crack
that had formed beneath. Ignoring it, she walked around the building, hoping to
find a side door.
It was a small alleyway, the floor wet and being dripped on from overhanging
rock. Bins were stacked down here next to crates of empty bottles and other
rubbish. She scowled when a great droplet splashed on her head. She felt as
though she had been shit on by a stray bird and brushed her hand over her head
just to check. It was probably one of the most embarrassing things that could
happen to you when you’re walking about town- for a bird to crap on you- the oh
shit reaction or how am I going to hide this without anyone noticing, or
there was tripping up in public. The embarrassed laugh that would follow,
wondering whether anyone would help you up, or if you should pretend nothing
had happened or should you stay on the ground, howling in pain so people would
take you seriously and stop laughing.
What a ridiculous thing to think of right now.
The door was locked, and wooden. She smiled. Old wood. She looked back up the
alleyway and saw that she was out of view. The padlock was small and simple. A
few sharp strikes with the pole and it gave way. The vibrations snapped their
way up her arm and made her teeth ring. The padlock was hot by the time she
wrenched it off. She opened the door with her foot, ready to strike. The room
was dark.
The blackness came over Diane in choking waves. She hesitated and then forced
herself to walk in. She closed the door quietly behind her and allowed her eyes
a few moments to get used to the lack of light. It seemed like a kitchen,
although she wondered who would ever order cheesy chips from a Vampire club.
She shrugged it off and walked through to the other side. She made out the
shape of a door. Holding her breath, she reached for the handle and was
relieved to find that it unlocked. Releasing her breath, she opened the door, blinking
furiously when light blinded her from the other side.
She paused and listened. Opening the door a fraction more, she peeked out.
There was no one around. She quickly made her way out, shutting it behind her.
She looked from left to right and found herself in a dark concrete hallway.
Lights blinked on and off above, making her feel uneasy. An idle breeze crept
its way over her skin, making her clench teeth. She forced herself not to rub
her arms. Every sense inside her screamed to get out. But she couldn’t. The
floor was wooden so she stepped lightly to avoid noise, wanting to run instead
of suffering the pathetically slow crawl. She chose to go left and found
herself at the top of some stairs. She strained her eyes but still couldn’t see
where they finished. It was a black space that followed, empty and absorbing.
She swallowed. Her ears started to prick. She turned right and heard voices and
froze. Blood seemed to congeal in her veins. She hadn’t thought about what she
would do if she was caught. How many could she take on? The odds swung in and
out of her mind while her instincts were screaming, move move move! She
stepped back, considering complete retreat.
“Fuck.” She stepped quickly downstairs where it wasn’t lit, hoping that they
would pass. She stopped halfway, not wanting to go any further. The wood was
cold and very slightly damp. Her hands clenched the old stairs, dirt and soggy
mulch from the wood slithering under her fingernails, and concentrated on the
voices. She wished her heartbeat would quieten. There were two of them. Both
male. If she was found skulking, she would be in so much shit.
Diane froze as they stopped at the top of the stairs, dust spinning from the
top and going into her face. She was aware that she was in plain view and
hunched her shoulders, licking the dust from cracked lips. They were so
immersed in their conversation, that they didn’t even notice her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Moving lower down into the shadows, she hoped to
dear God that she was keeping quiet. Hoped that they would move away. She
stepped backwards into the shadows, and turned, searching for somewhere in the
abyss to hide. She searched blindly with her hands, and was glad when cold
stone met her fingertips and not a heap of metal to crash and make a racket.
Pressing her back against it, she shuffled along, just making out the shape of
crates of bottles. She felt sick as she heard the creaking of the stairs as they
came down, step by step.
She had hoped they
would stay where they were.
She wondered if they
knew she was there. Was that why they were coming down? To search for her? She
slid silently behind a crate and pulled herself into the smallest shape she
could, sliding the pole behind her in easy reach. She wished that she was back
in her apartment Upstairs, in her warm bed on a Sunday morning with a box of
Maltesers and with nothing to do- safe and warm in her thick duvet. She felt
grit slide its way into a cut in her hand, tiny stones pressing against sore
skin as she fought to keep her huddled shape still.
For a while Diane
heard nothing. She crunched her eyes shut, desperate not to see when they
switched the light on. She waited a while and opened her eyes, glad for once to
still be in cloying darkness. She leant forward quietly and peered through a
slit between two crates.
Her eyes strained to make them out. Two men.
“It’s a bit early isn’t it to prepare the stage?” she heard one say, the sudden
sound of his voice obtrusive in her sensitive eardrums.
“Everett fancies a mess-around I suppose,” the other said. Diane watched them
walk to the other side of the room, still not flicking on a light. She was
grateful. But then one of them stopped and looked around.
“What’s up?”
She could feel him narrow his eyes at the spot she was hiding behind. Sweat
started to prickle between her shoulders, making it unbearably itchy. She
slowed her breathing- tried to hold her breath even.
“I don’t know…” He took a step towards her. “I just feel something’s…”
Closing her eyes, she willed herself invisible. She could hear him draw closer.
She knew the tip of her boot was sticking from beside the crate, but to draw it
away would attract attention. She forced her panicking muscles still, urged
herself to listen to anything but the soft moan of old wood beneath footfall.
About The Author
Elizabeth Earle started life by waking
up and becoming unsatisfied with reality. A member of a big family, always
being lumbered with the stool at Sunday Dinner and specialising in beating
grown (somewhat tipsy) men at left handed arm wrestling, she debuts her first
published work, Tartarus.
Tartarus was born from a lifetime of
nightmares and shaped into the shape of a book with the terror of sleep
paralysis, as a way of revenge from those nightly hallucinations. Diane
Stillman, the heroine of Tartarus was created to bring these demons into
account and to kick their arses.
Elizabeth can be found looking for buried treasure in your gardens, can be heard singing Queen (terribly) in the shower, and seen in the shadows of Warwickshire, cooking up another story.
Elizabeth can be found looking for buried treasure in your gardens, can be heard singing Queen (terribly) in the shower, and seen in the shadows of Warwickshire, cooking up another story.
Find
more info about E. Earle on;
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