Emma inched back, grabbing ahold of Killian’s arm. “Oh, my god, that thing, it’s…” She searched for a word, a new word to define the visceral repulsion on her scrunched face.
Maurice nodded his head. “I know, right.”
“What? What do you know?” Sophie dismissively turned her back away from him and faced the wall.
Killian acted with little interest. He rubbed his chin, stitching his brows together. “Seems like a joke to me.”
Sophie turned to have another glance at the same picture she had seen many times before. Soon after, all the eyes in the grotto affixed to the large, colored picture of the Dweller in the medieval book.
For the first time, everyone stopped talking in an unspoken agreement of implied silence. The Dweller on the page of the medieval book seemed to come alive. Projecting off the flimsy, colored sheet, a fierce creature hunched over in a beastly side body profile, with its neck turned to face the reader. The image discharged an unreal, yet foreboding menace, appearing to hypnotically growl back at them from off the page of the medieval book taken from the Notre Dame Cathedral.
The monster had a diseased appearance. Its skin had a blotchy jaundiced, but a pale white anemic shine. It had pronounced, raised edges of spiny backbones. The skull appeared malformed and semi-oblong, with a bald, melon-like head, while only scarce, frizzy gray strands of messy hair grew from its bony scalp.
The Dweller had tiny, seashell-shaped ears, but a mouth full of protracted fangs, a set of large, saucer-like black eyes, and a vertical pair of slits for its blunt snout. It was lean, with a hostile, muscular sinewy frame up and down its torso, neck, shoulders, arms, and legs. Last of all, the picture painted a set of hands, each with five, large knuckled, thinly fingered, circularly rotated digits, perfectly designed for grasping prey with a most lethal hold. At the end of the fingers, the Dweller’s sickle-shaped talons knifed forth. In scale, the creature’s hooks appeared eight to ten inches long. The fierce, ripping blades seemed designed for slashing victims to pieces. Blackened as tar, the talons curved inward and tipped at the ends with razor points. The black tar, sickle-like talons were flawlessly sharp, ready to perforate, thus causing the entrails of its victim to spill out with a single blow.
“No!” Emma uttered a shout of disgust, and then snapped her fingers. “I know what that thing looks like. It looks like that little monster in the movie about the ring.” Everyone looked strangely at her. “Come on, you guys know, the one where the little monster calls the ring its precious or something.”
“Oh,” Maurice said. He flipped the book back around, squinting, he held the book farther away, and then up closer. He tilted his head at the picture a second and third time. “I don’t know. I guess maybe if you’ve never actually seen a Dweller before it would look like that other thing. But this book says Dwellers are angry, mean, and nasty killers, who eat, and multiply, and destroy everything they come across.”
“Multiply?” Killian joined in.
“Yeah, I haven’t read much about them multiplying yet, but apparently these Dwellers eat just about anything.” Maurice read some more of the old script as he turned the book’s pages with care. “Ah, here, the book says humans provide most of its diet.” Holding the edge of the page with the tips of his index finger and thumb, he flipped back and forth from text to picture on the previous page about the Dweller. “Apparently it attaches its hand like a suction cup to the top of the victim’s head and sucks everything out from the inside.” Maurice moistened his index finger with his tongue. He slanted his neck downward and examined the Latin script closer. “Let’s see now. Let’s see now,” he repeated to himself.
Sophie laughed. “Lost again?”
“No!” Maurice squinted at the words from the book. “Ah, here it is.” He lightly placed a finger on the page. “And after that, the Dweller can temporarily take the shape of the one it consumed, and only then are Dwellers able to once again walk in the light for a single day.”
“Once again?” Emma repeated with a curious expression.
Maurice began to read some more. “Yes…”
Killian interrupted. “I’m growing tired of this.” He pretended to yawn, eyeing down at the floor with a musing, yet contrived disinterest. “Let’s do what we came down here to do. Let’s start exploring the tunnels.” He quickly got up and pulled Emma by the hand, and said, “It’s initiation time.”
Maurice and Sophie shared a private thought in an instantaneous glance before they left the grotto. They each gave a half smile and Sophie winked once.
Maurice gingerly put his book at the bottom of his bag, wrapping it with a cloth, mitering each corner of the medieval volume with extra care. He then loaded all other contents, with as much as his arms could hold, filling the bag three quarters of the way high. He kept the one true tool every cataphile instantly needed, switching it on, flashing it as his only source of light in the dark tunnels ahead.
Sophie elbowed Maurice, who checked the batteries, flipping the button to the flashlight on and off several times.
Maurice, Sophie, Emma, and Killian all left the soft, ambient brilliance of a hundred candles, along with the relative comfort of the grotto far behind. Now a stifling darkness kindled their way. The tunnels seemed to beckon them with an eerie silence of freedom and foreboding.
Killian turned on his light and held Emma’s hand, and the two left the grotto with haste.
Maurice looked over his flashlight as if for the first time. “Yep, these new batteries work just fine.” He hurried to follow the rest of them.
Killian led Emma out of the grotto and down into the catacomb tunnels.
Emma drew slight resistance against Killian’s tow. “Wait, what about those monster things?”
Killian stopped briefly and glared at her. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you believe in crazy stories about make-believe monsters.” He impatiently patronized. “What are you, a five-year-old?”
“No!” Emma pouted angrily. “Of course I didn’t believe it. I just wanted to hear some more. It was a cool story.” She tapered her eyes. “You can’t just grab my hand and take me wherever you want. I’m nobody’s thing. I’m not your property, ya know.” She tightened her lips. “I’m my own thing.” Emma protested, yet kept walking hand in hand with Killian without resistance.
“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t trust those two,” Killian quietly said.
Emma’s eyes brightened. “What’s not to trust? I mean, Sophie’s a total witch, but the book Maurice has is like a thousand years old, and is like so cool.”
“Nah…it was more like five to seven hundred years old,” Killian replied with an undertone of arrogance. “Look, it doesn’t matter how old the dumb book is, it’s just a bunch of superstitious nonsense, and he…I mean they’re up to something, but I’ll play along for now.”
With heavily arched brows, Emma puckered her lips into a soured face. “I want to go home.”
“Okay.” Killian sighed, sensing her fear. “Let’s go then. But the closest exit to your hotel is up here.” He pointed to the darkest end of the tunnels ahead. Killian felt Emma hesitate, so he leaned over and kissed her forehead. Looking over top of her, he whispered, “They’re coming, but don’t worry, I’m here, and I’ll get you home…trust me, my sweet.”
Sullen, Emma bowed her head. “Okay.” Concerned, she asked, “Who’s coming?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not Dwellers.” Killian slyly grinned. He turned his attention to the dawdling Sophie and Maurice. “And here I thought you weren’t coming with us.”
“Four is safer than two. And after all, we are all fellow cataphiles,” Maurice said with Sophie lumbering near his side. “We were just waiting for the right partners to tag the catacombs when back in the grotto.” Maurice stiffened his lower lip. “Say, do you guys have an extra flashlight?” he asked with an air of pleased oddness.
“
Yep.” Killian pulled another, smaller light from out of his pocket.
The two couples ceased talking and turned, continuing up into the dark tunnels, toward the endless catacombs.
Killian hiked at a furious pace as if he knew exactly where he was and wanted to be. Emma, mostly blinded by the dark, only caught glimpses of light in the tunnels around her. The whirlwind, underground tour of Paris had her winded, leaving her without time to question or reason, but she trusted Killian.
Sophie and Maurice kept behind at an uneven pace, falling at a distance before catching up more than once. They subdued uneasy quarrels. Allusive glances between them exposed a shared, implicit nature.
The four of them set out to discover the secrets that the tunnels and the catacombs had to offer. Using two flashlights, they squeezed through some tightly cramped, narrow passageways. Crouching down from low ceilings, they folded their shoulders inward just to travel along, hardly able to extend their chest outward for even a deep breath at times.
Without notice, the cramped tunnels would open into a high archway. A large room, partly filled with brown, stagnant, murky water of uncertain depth would suddenly appear. Maurice carried his backpack over top him as he tread through the murky, waist-high water.
Killian, being slightly taller than Maurice, carried Emma on his back over the water’s cool, thick grime, with only the tips of her shoes gliding across the wet surface.
Sophie glared at Emma from behind, and then puckered her mouth at the reeking, septic water Killian and Maurice waded through. She huffed loudly toward Maurice for carrying his backpack instead of her. Sophie stomped her foot, nearly slipping backward on the mud before she boldly followed the rest of them into the dirty, stagnant pool.
From the large room to the other side, the odor of raw sewage accompanied the ancient catacombs as each tunnel branched out into four different burrows at this point.
They emerged from the deep pool of backwater.
“Which one of those do we take?” Emma asked, looking into four dark passageways.
Killian let her down from his back shoulders, and pointed with certainty to one tunnel in particular. “This one,” he confidently said.
“Are you sure?” Maurice asked. “How do you know?”
“I just do,” Killian replied without hesitation, and moved ever forward like a person possessed.
The air became thick, with choking moisture, and from that, a weighted heaviness. It suffocated with every inhalation. Like a damp sweater, it pulled on the lungs, making crisp, clean air impossible for a useful breath.
The cool sogginess clung to them, leaving drops of condensation in a sticky film over their skin. Shorter respirations labored into oppressive gasps with every increasingly listless step. Winded, Maurice shut off his flashlight, saving the battery life, while only occasionally turning it on to shine behind him toward the direction of strange noises the catacombs made.
Sophie and Maurice chose to use the brightness from Killian’s light to lead their way. Killian and Emma walked side by side when the tunnels allowed, and Killian led the way in front when the tunnels narrowed to single file.
Maurice stood directly behind Emma. Sophie held onto Maurice’s shoulder, for she could see very little of the light this far back.
The single flashlight was nary enough to cast aside the darkness, which sought to submerge everything in repressive misery. The moisture cleaved around them in dense air, which tormented the spirit, and bathed the tunnels in evil, while dulling the senses in complete, yet quiet desperation.
Emma felt an unfamiliar crunching beneath her feet and, along with popping and snapping, the sounds reverberated off the walls as they crushed what seemed like fragile eggshells underfoot.
Emma was the only one of the four who did not know what she was stepping on, so she refused to move until someone flashed the light at the ground near her feet.
Killian pointed his light straight ahead, and never to the ground or the close side walls in the larger tunnel, where they now were traveling.
“I don’t think you…” Killian paused.
Emma had had enough. “I’m tired of being down here. I thought you were taking me to one of those nice, spectacular clubs, and not down into the depths of hades.” She quickly reached out and snatched the flashlight away from him.
Sophie and Maurice chuckled, each elbowing the other.
Emma accidentally flipped the light into her own eyes. Momentarily blinded, she clamped her eyes shut, slowly opening them for an adjustment from black to bright. Emma blinked, squeezing her eyes several times, all the while scowling from the giggles at her temporary loss of sight. Despite Emma’s obvious discomfort, Maurice and Sophie openly engaged in fun at her mistake.
“SHUT UP!” Emma shouted at the two behind her.
“You stupid American.” Sophie smirked. “You’re just a spoiled little princess, aren’t you?” She constantly harassed. “Your clothes are so nice and clean still, but you’re so dumb that you don’t even know how to work a flashlight. Ha!” She let out a single laugh, while crossing her arms, curling her closed lips, and arching her right brow.
The bottom of Emma’s eyelids grew heavy with fresh tears. She sniffled a couple of times. Emma looked down at her new clothes, which were stained brown, black, gray, and waterlogged with dirt particles of sandy muck. Her palms and fingers now caked with sludge, she flipped them around and wiped her tears with the clean backsides of her hands.
Emma’s voice cracked. “My clothes are dirty just like yours.”
“Go ahead, cry, little princess pity party.” Sophie balled her hands inward below the outer corners of her own eyes, moving them back and forth, while pretending to sniffle, cry, and wipe some tears of her own.
Killian and Maurice stood silently as Emma and Sophie argued. Neither of them interfered with their partners.
“You have a damn nerve,” Emma shouted. “These clothes are worth more than everything in your closet, or maybe what you’re wearing is the only thing you have.” Emma snapped her fingers. “Jealous much?”
“Well…at least I’m pretty, and boys like me.” Sophie turned her nose up and to the side.
“I’ve had it!” Emma dropped the flashlight and dove at Sophie’s throat.
The two started fighting on the tunnel ground, rolling over the slimy, eggshell surface. Sophie took a handful of Emma’s hair and pulled hard, causing her to scream. Emma grabbed a handful of Sophie’s, short, pink locks, and then she smacked her across the face. They kicked and slapped as they rumbled and rolled all over the ground between the tunnel walls. Both yelled, grunted, and cursed at the other.
Maurice watched and smiled, occasionally skipping his feet out of their way. Maurice turned his light back on, pulled out his phone, and began filming the fight.
Frustrated, Killian cupped his hands on top his head. “Do something to control your girlfriend!” he shouted.
Maurice looked up and shrugged. “I haven’t seen a good girl fight in quite some time. Come on…enjoy it while it lasts.” He smirked. “Man, this is gonna go viral.” Maurice angled his video for the best shots as he dodged the rolling combatants.
Killian stared at Maurice with deathly silence. “If you don’t stop this, I will, and then I’ll be coming after you next.”
“You’re no fun.” Maurice gulped, pouted, and then jerked Sophie’s arm, removing her from off Emma.
The two fighters, now held back, were pulled away while still swinging and grabbing at the other.
Sophie held strands of Emma’s straggly, brown hair. Yet she sported several scratches across her cheek as payment from Emma.
Killian wrapped up Emma, and Maurice held Sophie back with a straight arm.
“Let go of me!” Emma struggled to gain freedom from Killian’s strong grip. “I’m gonna kill her!”
“Now, Maurice,” Sop
hie calmly commanded. “Do it now!” she demanded.
Maurice hesitated. “But we agreed, and it’s not time yet.”
“I said now!” Sophie shouted.
Maurice limply surrendered his straight arm from up at Sophie, now down by his side. He handed her his backpack. She reached into the bag, grabbing two hand-sized objects, after which, she flipped the pack over her shoulder. Sophie slowly raised a brighter flashlight and then unbent her other arm, pointing a gun squarely at Emma’s head.
Emma twirled herself behind Killian, huddling her head in her hands, tucking it between her shoulders, while refusing to look. “Oh, my god! Please don’t shoot me! It’s not that big a deal, really!”
Killian seemed unfazed. “Be reasonable…”
“Shut up!” Sophie interrupted him. “Maurice, get their money and any valuables.” She tightened her lips, raising a single corner slightly higher than the other. She clamped her teeth, elevated her rounded chin, and with a sneer, she glared down past her nose at Killian and Emma. A faint grin emerged, with a glint of smarmy enjoyment. “Hurry up, Maurice!” She pushed him toward Killian and Emma.
Maurice’s voice trembled. “Um, okay.” He held his own hands, wringing them off on his sweaty forehead.
Sophie swayed the gun back and forth. “Hands up!” She motioned the light sideways, implying that Killian step away from shielding Emma. She then waved the barrel of the gun twice into the air for their hands to go vertical, while Maurice hesitantly frisked the two for valuables. “Sometimes Maurice can be useful.”
Emma could not believe this was happening. And it certainly was not the romantic night she had envisioned with Killian. Askew, Emma locked eyes with Killian. Her face packed full with distress, his, however, appeared detached from the current situation.
Killian acted bored and disinterested. The lavish attention he doted upon Emma was gone. Instead of attentive warmth, a new person emerged. A cold, emotionless, calculating, and brooding stranger appeared in his place instead. Killian was supremely focused on something else, something secret and within his control, yet he waited and watched Maurice and Sophie fumble through their dirty deed. Killian glanced down at Maurice while being searched and frisked by him. Killian snarled like a beast. When Maurice caught eyes with Killian, he plucked his hands from out of his pockets, backing away from his cold-blooded stare down.