Part 26 (2/2)
”Yes. Definitely here.”
”Good.” Grinning she led the way along the avenue of crypts. He sensed her rising excitement as she rapped on the doors with her knuckles. ”Rise and s.h.i.+ne. It's time to come out and play!” She tapped the iron doors again before running lightly ahead of him, her hair swinging from side-to-side.
He laughed. ”You'll get the shock of your life if they knock back from the other side.”
”Who cares! Let them come to the party!”
She rapped on a door; it chimed like a bell. Now in the depths of the shadows she was a flitting shadow herself, as light as a ghost, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng with an eerie light.
Overhead, trees loomed over the walls, all but sealing them in and blocking what little light filtered through the heavy clouds.
At one point she stopped at a door. Ventilation holes had been set into the door at around shoulder height. They were large enough to allow you to insert your little finger, although Paul wouldn't have cared to do that. His imagination only too quickly supplied the sensation of dead teeth clamping around his finger at the other side of the door.
Miranda put her mouth to the one of the holes and called, ”Great Grandma, Great Grandpa, it's time to pull on your dancing shoes and come outside.” She knocked on the metal door. The sound went booming into the depths of the vault, then the echo came like the sound of hysterical shouting. She put her eye to the ventilation hole. ”That's it, Great Grandma, kick off the lid and come out here. I want you to meet my boyfriend.” She shot him a wild grin, her teeth flas.h.i.+ng like neon in the gloom. ”Take a look, Paul.” She invited him to put his eye to the hole. ”The family are dying to meet you.”
Paul marveled. ”My G.o.d, Miranda, what are you on?”
”Quick, Grandma's pressing her ear to the other side of the hole. Come here and whisper a few words into her head bone.”
He laughed. Then his eyes strayed to the lintel above the door where a name had been carved.
BLOOM.
His eyes widened. ”This really is your family grave?”
”Well, tomb or crypt would be a more accurate description. But yes, there's a vault in there full of dead Blooms. Boxes and boxes of them.”
”You've been in there?”
”No. Once when I was little I was so curious that I came up here with a flashlight. I shone it through one hole while I looked through the other hole.”
”What did you see?”
”Oh, awfula this big, watery eye looking back at me.”
Her face was so serious that he did a double take. Then she laughed and grabbed his arm. ”Idiot,” she said happily, squeezing him so her breast pressed against his elbow. ”You swallowed that one, didn't you?”
”Hook, line and sinker.”
”Come on,” she pulled his arm. ”I've missed you. I want to make up for lost time, don't you?”
”I was just thinking the same thing.”
They made their way through the narrow alleyways, with their iron doors that sealed the dead from the living. Darkness oozed thickly around them; dusk was early tonight. The earth beneath their feet smelt damp, mingling with that, spiky scents of nettles and hemlock. When a light breeze touched the trees, unsettling them into swirls of muttering whispers, water would drip down. Fingers without skin tapped on coffin lids. At least, that's what it sounded like to Paul. Fingers tapping.
He shook his heada this cemetery had a habit of leaking into your skin to fool around with your brain. He caught up with Miranda, who danced lightly ahead of him, elfin like, and somehow otherworldly.
He ran, leaping over the puddles. At the corner of one alley he saw rainwater had coursed down here like a stream to leave a smooth layer of silt across the path, right up to one of the doors. Floodwater had even run into the crypt, perhaps stirring a few old bones in the process.
With care he avoided the fresh deposit of earth, choosing the opposite side of the path where it was firmer and where he'd seen Miranda skip lightly across.
As he edged by the expanse of mud he saw a set of footprints.
”Hey, Miranda,” he called. ”Look at this.”
”Look at what?”
”There's some footprintsa they lead into one of the crypts but they don't come back out again.” He looked at the door, implacably shut against the outside world, sealing tight whatever decayed within. Above the door was a name plaque: HAYLING.
”Miranda. Someone's gone into the crypt, but they never came out.”
”Likely story, Paul.”
Surprised, he looked up. She was already on top of the man-made cliff looking down at him; she was smiling. ”Are we going to have some time alone today or what?”
He looked down at the footprints-they were small, lady-like ones- and they did appear to lead into the crypt. Only now the door was shut.
He took a step forward, his foot sinking with a squish into moist dirt. In the door were ventilation holes. Curiosity drew him to them. He couldn't resist just one peek through a hole into the crypt.
Breeze stirred the trees above, raising a whispering sound while water droplets fell around him, making him think of fingers tapping on wood faster and faster.
”Paula” Miranda's voice was deliciously teasing. ”Paua orrrla”
Gently he tapped a knuckle on the door. The echo came back so sharply he wondered for a moment if someone inside the crypt had given the door a loud answering knock.
He listened. A dry whispery silence. Nothing more.
From above Miranda's voice came teasingly again, but this time with a hungry edge. ”Paul. Oh, Paul? Miranda's so cold and lonely.”
With a shake of his head he said under his breath, ”OK, you dirty rotten vampires. Stay put, Paul Newton's got business to attend to.”
With that he turned, jumped across to firmer ground, and walked to where Miranda stood waiting for him.
As he jumped his heel must have caught the tomb door because it boomed behind with a thunderous sound.
2.
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