The Devil’s Cave
“It’s an ice pit!” said Ben.
“If it’s just an ice pit, what’s the problem?”
“We’re not twelve anymore! Jesus, Adam, you can be really weird sometimes!”
Adam stroked his chin. His friend Ben was being difficult.
“Won’t you just come with me! It’s not like you’ve got a girlfriend sitting in waiting for you.”
Adam immediately regretted that comment. Ben had had a girlfriend until recently. The split had not been his idea—Catherine and her libido. “We’re young, Ben—we need to experiment,” she’d said. And while Catherine was off, presumably experimenting, Ben relied on satellite television for his kicks.
“Thanks for pointing that out, mate,” said Ben.
“I’m sorry.” But Adam was more interested in persuasion than apologies.
“Look, come with me on Saturday. We’ll be two hours and then we can spend the rest of the night watching the box and eating pizza. Please, Ben.”
Ben looked at his friend and then at the television screen in the corner of his bedroom. He grimaced as a pro-wrestler was whacked with a metal chair. “Okay, I’ll come—don’t understand why, though.”
“I just want to have a look!”
“You’re seventeen!” said Ben.
Adam playfully punched his friend on the shoulder as he reached for his coat and headed for the door. “I’ll call you,” he said.
Ben grunted and changed the channel on the television.
There was snow falling on the street and Adam juddered as the wind bit into his legs and face. He was tired—the winter had seemed longer than usual, and of course, there were the dreams.
They weren’t quite nightmares, he thought to himself. True, they woke him, but did that qualify? He didn’t think so. There was no terror, no screaming or sweating; they were just… weird.
Just under a week ago, staggering back from a night at the pub, full of cider and misadventure, he’d been drawn to the woods and the grounds of the old house which, rumour had it, was to become a nursing home.
He remembered the hole in the fence from his childhood—memories of nervous conker hunting escapades, a nagging fear of discovery—Private Property Keep Out.
There were stories around his school of a formidable warden who patrolled the grounds armed with a rifle and salt pellets. What was his name? Potter? Potts? Whatever it was, Adam had never set eyes on him.
Some seven years later, drunk, Adam crawled through the same hole in the wire fence and into the forbidden woods. “Come and get me, Potts!” he yelled. Silence. “Shoot me ass-hole!” Silence. He burst out laughing and was sick through his nose.
Adam trekked on through the darkness and cast his eyes over the old house.
It was huge. He’d wondered if it had just seemed huge in his memories, but apparently not.
It was red brick, Victorian, with snarling gargoyles carved at the gable ends. The timber frames and exposed roof trusses were painted white, making them an eerie collection of angles in the darkness.
Adam walked on towards the gardens at the front of the house and fell into a drainage ditch. He laughed as he felt moisture in his shoes and it was then that he noticed the glow.
An orange hue shimmered through the Yew trees towards the river. “Devil’s Cave,” he whispered.
How long had it been since he’d heard that sinister handle?
Adam listened for sounds but there were none. It looked like fire, and if fire was as close as that he was pretty sure he would at least hear wood knot explosions.
“Interesting,” he’d muttered. But it was not interesting enough to stop him climbing out of his ditch and heading home with a vivid image of his bed keeping his feet moving.
It was the dreams that had done it. He couldn’t be sure—cider being cider—if he’d dreamt that night; but he certainly had since.
He would be sitting in his living room with his older brother. His brother would be drinking tea and telling Adam that ‘Devil’s Cave’ was really an ice store from a time before freezers were invented.
Suddenly, Adam would be standing at the mouth of the ‘cave’, that orange fiery glow swaying like nature’s own dancer, and he’d hear mumbling coming from within. The dream would end with him trying to pluck up the courage to go in and take a look.
The seeds were sown: he was a broad shouldered seventeen year old and any hint, whether subconscious or not, of his own bravery being questioned was to be met with a demonstration of his masculinity—it would simply be more fun with a friend.
At five o’clock on Saturday evening, Adam rang Ben.
“Ben, it’s Adam. I’ll be there at eight.”
“Oh, fantastic,” said Ben. “I’ll look forward to following you into the woods in the freezing cold to look at a concrete bunker.”
“Excellent,” said Adam. “I’ll see you then.”
At quarter past eight the pair of them crawled through the hole in the fence. Adam hoped that his vomit had gone—it had.
“Where to?” said Ben.
“You don’t remember where it is?”
“Unlike you, I have a mind that retains only what’s necessary.”
They walked on towards the house and Adam held out his hand and grabbed Ben by the shoulder. “Careful,” he said. “There’s a drainage ditch right here.”
They were clear of the ditch and onto the front lawn before Ben stopped. “How the hell do you remember there’s a ditch there?” he said.
Adam shrugged and carried on towards the spot where he’d seen the glow.
There were two tennis courts in a state of disrepair. Adam imagined two Victorian women in pleated skirts and tight white shirts playing in the sunshine.
“Where now?” said Ben.
“Over this fence, here.”
Ben grumbled as he eased his way over the rusted barbed wire and onto a track on the other side.
“And now?”
“We sit and we wait.”
After an hour Ben was starting to lose patience and Adam was considering coming clean about what he’d seen.
“What are we looking for?” he whined.
“Just sit back and relax,” said Adam.
“Why? This is ridiculous, Adam. We could be at home, or in the pub for that matter. What time is it?”
“It’s nearly half past nine.”
“Jesus, I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I listened to you.”
But Adam did not reply. He slowly raised his arm and pointed towards a fiery glow about ten metres away from them.
“What is it?” said Ben, a sudden quiet creeping into his voice.
“I don’t know. But I’d like to see.”
“You want to go down the pit?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And just what do you think you’re going to find, apart from a couple of idiots sniffing glue or shooting up?”
“I don’t know. I just want to see.”
Adam moved forward towards the flames. He was under no doubt now that they were flames, but he was again mystified at the silence that accompanied them.
“What are you proposing to do when you climb into that hole and find two pissed tramps who decide to fuck you for crashing their party?” There was no humour in his voice.
“Hang back if you want to,” said Adam. “I’m going in. I want to see what’s down there.”
Adam pulled a torch from his rucksack and headed through the frozen undergrowth towards the pit.
Ben followed.
Adam disappeared into the opening and after a few minutes the sound of his voice jumped out of the darkness.
“Come down, Ben. There’s nobody here. Come and see.”
Ben cursed under his breath and walked slowly towards the sound of Adam’s voice.
The glow brightened.
“Come on,” said Adam. His voice was really close and Ben suddenly saw the opening below him.
He crouched down and was pleased to find the way in illuminated by the flames. Some short metal steps were propped against the sheer wall of the drop, but the drop was less than a metre onto the narrow passageway below, and Ben simply slid onto the concrete and inched forward, his palms flat on either side of him against the cold smooth walls.
“Be careful,” said Adam. “There’s another drop and it’s a big one.”
The heat from the fire was beginning to caress his cheeks as he moved along the passageway. It was not unpleasant in the cold winter air.
As Ben moved closer to the flames the passageway suddenly stopped. Another few inches and he was standing on the edge of a drop of about eight feet.
As his eyes adjusted to the light of the fire, he could see Adam grinning through the sparks and the smoke.
“Crouch down, turn around and drop in,” said Adam. “It’s really rather pleasant in here.”
“Yeah, lovely,” said Ben.
He did as he was told and was soon standing in the bowels of ‘the Devil’s Cave’.
“Okay, we made it,” said Ben. “Can we go, now?”
“In a minute.” Adam began walking around the circumference, pointing his torch at the walls and laughing to himself. “I think you may have been fairly close to the mark with the drugged-up theory,” he said. “There’s some crazy shit written on these walls.”
“Like what?” asked Ben.
“God help us, for the world outside is but an illusion,” read Adam. “Yesterday we laughed, today we perish.”
“This is giving me the fucking creeps,” said Ben. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Hang on. I wonder why we couldn’t hear the fire until we were inside? There’s plenty of wood on it. It’s a fair size, too.”
Ben looked into the fire and up at the drop he’d negotiated. “Perhaps the sound is absorbed by the cavern,” said Ben.
Adam looked into the fire and seemed to lose himself in it. The flames danced around in the still air and every so often a spark would soar into the passageway and disappear. His face took on a strange expression—he almost seemed to be gloating. Ben’s urge to leave became overwhelming.
“Come on now, Adam. I’ve had enough, let’s go,” he said.
“Come on now, Adam. I’ve had enough, let’s go.” Adam mimicked his friend with a pathetic drone and snorted.
“What is your fucking problem?” Ben began to lose his patience. “I’ve had it with you, Adam.”
Ben jumped for the ledge to heave himself back into the passageway but his jump fell short and he slipped down the concrete walls.
He jumped again, this time after a short run. Again he failed to grasp the edge and shouted in frustration.
Adam laughed. It was a cruel laugh and Ben began to feel afraid. He looked over his shoulder towards the fire—Adam gazed into it with a detached look.
It suddenly struck Ben that the fire was not diminishing. They’d been in there for twenty minutes, neither of them adding any wood.
“Adam, please, come on, let’s get out of here.”
Adam didn’t move. He seemed transfixed by the flames, the dancing licks of orange. He grinned.
Ben walked back until he was next to the fire and turned once again to face the jump that had twice eluded him.
He ran at the wall and threw himself up towards the ledge. His hands slapped painfully against the wall and he slid back again.
Adam laughed, but this time it wasn’t cruel—it was demented.
Ben spun round and gasped as he saw his friend standing in the centre of the flames. The temperature in the cavern rocketed and Ben grimaced as the whiff of burning flesh crept into his nostrils.
He screamed and made a grab for Adam, but something hauled him back to the wall.
There were men standing around the entire circumference of the pit, looking on at the burning body. Adam’s face remained etched with a sardonic grin.
“Adam!” he screamed.
The men that lined the walls did not move. They were dressed in an array of fashions: braided cloaks, evening wear, farm clothes and even jeans and modern style jackets. They were of differing age: elderly; boys; middle-aged men; adolescents. The only common factor was the expression of evil fascination which touched them.
He watched as his friend melted in front of him and collapsed into the raging fire, his flesh bubbling like overheated broth.
And no sooner had his body withered in the heat, then, Adam was among the men, his clothes and his features seemingly untouched by the inferno.
Ben felt suddenly drawn towards the fire, and the arms that held him gave a reassuring nudge as he became entranced by the dancing orange glow. . .
Back to: Vol 1, Issue 1