The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror. Volume 23

Adam cleared his throat. “So, Sash,” he said. “Tell us about the ghosts.”

She turned her head. Her face looked pale. “Aren’t no ghosts in Dark Cave.”

“But you said. ”

“I didn’t say there were ghosts. I said there were stories.” She wrapped her arms around her skinny body.

“Same difference.”

Sash glanced over her shoulder, into the dark. Adam looked too, but there was nothing there. There was nothing around them at all; it was like they were floating. He shivered. It’s not me, he thought, it’s them, and he didn’t know why: only that the words were in his mind, playing over like an echo.

It’s not me. It’s them.

“So what are the stories, Sash?” Fuzz’s voice was gentle.

“They’re about old stuff. My Nan told me. About when people used to come here, and what they used to do.”

Adam wanted to snort, but he did not.

“What stories, Sash?” Fuzz prompted.

“They’re about what’s in here.” Sash glanced around again.

“So tell us.”

But Sash didn’t. She got to her feet, so abruptly she knocked Fuzz’s phone out of his hands. There was a splay of light and a gritting sound, and then the dark ate it.

“Sash.”

She didn’t answer.

Fuzz got up, feeling about for his phone.

“Wait,” said Adam. It came out louder than he’d intended and he expected to hear his own voice coming back from the walls — wait — wait — wait — but there was nothing. He didn’t know which was worse, hearing an echo or not hearing it. “I’ll make a bit of light.”

He stood, reached for his bag, rummaged through the contents. He pulled out some exercise books, flicked to the back of one, steadied it with the fist holding his lighter and ripped out the blank pages. He crumpled them, placed them where he’d been sitting. He could feel the dark at his back, and he didn’t like it. He’d felt better when he was inside the circle. He bent and put the flame to the paper. It flared, and he saw what lay around them.

Their shadows rose and danced on the walls. The cavern was roughly circular. There were no other tunnels that he could see. There was more writing on the walls, though: names, dates. Adam glanced at the fire and saw the last ball of paper catch. It flared but the blackness flooded back anyway, as though the dark had grown, was reclaiming its territory. Then the fire went out.

“I’m getting out of here,” said Sash. She took a couple of steps into the dark then stopped. Adam almost — not quite — reached out to pull her back.

“Wait,” said Fuzz. His voice was oddly high, and it struck Adam that fear was catching, that it had leapt from one of them to the next just as the flame had spread from paper to paper. Fuzz pressed a switch and the cold blue light was back again: he had found his phone. He went after Sash and became a black shape.

Adam’s own lighter flickered and went out.

He didn’t curse, didn’t say anything at all. He was in the dark and he could feel its cold fingers on his skin, touching his clothes, his face, his eyes. He didn’t want to move; all he wanted was for it to stop. His hands shook around the lighter. Then the flame sprang up and the shadows shrank from him.

He could no longer see Sash and Fuzz. Adam kept his eyes on the flame he held, feeling the darkness massing at his back as he started after them.

“The stories are about the dark,” said Sash. She held a cigarette to her lips and it shook in her hands. She was sitting on the low, twisted branch of a tree. Adam looked away, down at the woodland floor. It was covered in fallen leaves; another year dying.

“My Nan says they used to think the dark lived in the cave. So they’d send people in, you know — to test them. To see if they could handle it. Sometimes they came out and sometimes they didn’t. The ones who didn’t, who got fed to the dark, they had their names written on the walls, see? And then the dark would go away for another year, like they were sacrifices or something. It kept it away, right?” She paused. “I thought it was stupid. But—”

Fuzz touched Sasha’s arm. “What do you mean, sometimes the dark was there? It’s Dark Cave. Of course, the dark was there. It’s there all the time.”

“Not this dark,” Sash said, taking another draw.

Fuzz waited. So did Adam.

“There was this special darkness, see. It was there no matter what. You could walk into that dark with the brightest torch, my Nan said, and it’d still be dark. All that’ll happen is, your light’ll be quenched. That’s how she put it: quenched. Like thirst.”

Adam scowled, shuffling his foot through withered leaves. The earth beneath it was a deep, rich black. He stopped.

“You couldn’t put it out, that dark. People just went into it and there was nothing to light their way. They went in and either they came back or they didn’t. No one knows what happened to the ones who didn’t.”

Adam thought again of the names he’d glimpsed on the walls. He let out an exasperated sound. There were so many: too many. If that many people had disappeared around here, someone would know. They’d have stopped it. More likely the cave had been the haunt of people like him. They’d written their own names there, and no one had come to wipe them away. Why would they? The cave was nothing special. It went so far and no further; like everything else in life, a disappointment. He realised the others were looking at him and scowled.

“I felt it,” said Fuzz.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You felt her panicking. And you turned chickenshit.” Adam turned away. “It’s about time you grew up, Fuzz.” And then he thought: It’s not them. It’s me. Only, I couldn’t feel it because they were there. He didn’t know why he thought it. It didn’t even seem quite right, not really. He only knew that the taste of the place had stayed with him, like an echo but with a feeling instead of sound.

Sash pushed herself up. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off. You coming, Fuzz?”

It happened quickly. Fuzz nodded and the two of them headed away, threading between the trees. Adam opened his mouth to call after them, some insult, or a question maybe: like, where they were going. Like, what they thought they were doing, just the two of them. Then he closed it again. It didn’t do to care, didn’t do to let people fuck you over. If they wanted to be alone, let them. He wasn’t going to make them think he gave a shit. Besides, he had better things to do. The other two could wait.

Daylight was fading when Adam found himself standing outside the cave once more, but he knew it didn’t matter; it would be dark inside anyway. It was different, being in the woods on his own. He didn’t know if he missed the others. He liked the clean air, the way the trees waved at him and the cave mouth opened as though to swallow him. He wasn’t sure he minded the idea of disappearing into it. He thought of the way his mother had been that morning. She’d been passed out on the sofa, an empty bottle at her side. This time it was gin, not wine. Ordinarily Adam would have been upset, but it gave him the chance to take a couple of tenners from her purse.

Adam had been shopping. Now, he pulled the first item from his bag: a large torch. The weight of it was comforting and he smacked it into his palm a few times. He opened the slot, inserted the batteries he’d bought. Now it was even heavier. He flicked it on and off a few times, watched the beam disappear into the dregs of daylight. He looked towards the cave. There was nothing to wait for. He turned his back on the trees and started walking.

This time, it was easier. The torch highlighted each irregularity in the ground, filling each dip with ink-black wells. They looked almost like footprints and Adam grimaced as he placed his feet into them. When he shone the light on the walls, he saw that there was writing on them. He made out occasional letters; more names, maybe. Then he found an almost complete date: 1971, years ago. The paint was cracked, crumbling away. Adam wondered what the date had meant, why it was important enough for someone to write it here. Someone’s birthday perhaps, or the day a couple met: sealed with a loving kiss. Sash and Fuzz, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Adam scowled.

He stood there, listening to the sound of water dripping onto rock. There was no other noise: no traffic, no