that Dan’s still holding me, and I shrug out of his grasp.
‘You going to be okay?’ he asks.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
There’s a couple of seconds of supreme awkwardness, and I heave myself up onto my hands and knees. I allow myself another hefty coughing fit, and finally take stock of our surroundings.
We’re on a ledge next to a filthy underground canal which flows through a domed brick tunnel. There’s a solid wall behind us, and weak light is filtering through from the far end, but
even from here I can tell it isn’t daylight, just a sickly yellow glow. Still, I allow myself to hope that we’ve ended up in a sewage outlet and will wash out somewhere in the real
world. Now my senses are back on track, the disgusting stench of the water fills my nostrils. The top of the water shines greasily as if it’s coated with a thin layer of cooking oil.
There’s something floating and knocking gently against the side. It’s instantly recognisable as a severed mannequin hand, the fingers curled into a fist, a metal bone protruding from
the wrist.
‘We made it, Rhoda,’ Dan says.
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to smile and ending up coughing again.
‘And look! We’re in another tunnel.’
‘Thank fuck for that,’ I say. ‘I was beginning to miss them.’
Dan laughs, but it’s a broken, relieved sound, devoid of any humour.
‘I tell you something, Dan. There’s no way the kid came down here.’
‘Ja. But remember what the message said. “You’ll be lost without it.” We missed out on the market.’
‘Why am I not too disappointed about that?’
‘I’m sure they meant that if we missed the market we’d get lost. So I’m saying that if the kid did come down here, he more than likely took a different route through the
market.’
One that I really don’t want to think about. ‘And that thing? Think it followed us down here?’
‘I fucking hope not.’
‘Which way now?’
‘Haven’t got much of a choice,’ Dan says. He’s right. We can follow the path next to the canal and see where it leads, or return. And right now I’d rather die down
here than retrace those particular steps. ‘You okay to get moving?’
He holds out his hand to help me up.
‘I feel like an old lady,’ I say, wincing as I stretch out my limbs.
‘Yeah, I know how you—’
We both jump as the water next to us starts to bubble and froth. A spurt of adrenaline hits me so hard that I can taste it, and then we’re running flat out along the side of the canal,
feet slapping on the raw brick, splashing through shallow puddles.
My elbow is suddenly yanked from behind, and I spin around and bash straight into Dan’s chest.
‘What you do that for?’ I yell, trying to wriggle free from his grip. From behind us there’s another churning splash.
He points to the left. There’s an archway built into the brick and beyond it a brightly lit area tiled in white. I would have run right past it. He pulls me along, and our wet feet
immediately start sliding on the slick tiled floor. Dan slips and now it’s my turn to grab his elbow and pull him up. We skid along as we both try and get a grip on the floor, like a scene in
a stupid slapstick comedy. The corridor curves to the right and then both of us stop dead as if we’ve hit an invisible brick wall.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Dan says.
It looks so unbelievably, reassuringly, banally normal .
In front of us is a grey metal lift door, the kind you see in low-end strip malls. There are two buttons either side of it, pointing up and down, and a row of back-lit numbers, ranging from 0 to
10 along the top of it. I look around for a stairwell door, but the rest of the wall is blank.
Looks like it’s the lift or nothing.
My phone beeps, making both of us jump.
‘Impossible,’ Dan says. ‘The battery must be soaked through.’
I scrabble in my pocket, hands fumbling and shaking, and pull out the last remains of the sodden envelope, my lighter, a tampon
‘You going to be okay?’ he asks.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
There’s a couple of seconds of supreme awkwardness, and I heave myself up onto my hands and knees. I allow myself another hefty coughing fit, and finally take stock of our surroundings.
We’re on a ledge next to a filthy underground canal which flows through a domed brick tunnel. There’s a solid wall behind us, and weak light is filtering through from the far end, but
even from here I can tell it isn’t daylight, just a sickly yellow glow. Still, I allow myself to hope that we’ve ended up in a sewage outlet and will wash out somewhere in the real
world. Now my senses are back on track, the disgusting stench of the water fills my nostrils. The top of the water shines greasily as if it’s coated with a thin layer of cooking oil.
There’s something floating and knocking gently against the side. It’s instantly recognisable as a severed mannequin hand, the fingers curled into a fist, a metal bone protruding from
the wrist.
‘We made it, Rhoda,’ Dan says.
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to smile and ending up coughing again.
‘And look! We’re in another tunnel.’
‘Thank fuck for that,’ I say. ‘I was beginning to miss them.’
Dan laughs, but it’s a broken, relieved sound, devoid of any humour.
‘I tell you something, Dan. There’s no way the kid came down here.’
‘Ja. But remember what the message said. “You’ll be lost without it.” We missed out on the market.’
‘Why am I not too disappointed about that?’
‘I’m sure they meant that if we missed the market we’d get lost. So I’m saying that if the kid did come down here, he more than likely took a different route through the
market.’
One that I really don’t want to think about. ‘And that thing? Think it followed us down here?’
‘I fucking hope not.’
‘Which way now?’
‘Haven’t got much of a choice,’ Dan says. He’s right. We can follow the path next to the canal and see where it leads, or return. And right now I’d rather die down
here than retrace those particular steps. ‘You okay to get moving?’
He holds out his hand to help me up.
‘I feel like an old lady,’ I say, wincing as I stretch out my limbs.
‘Yeah, I know how you—’
We both jump as the water next to us starts to bubble and froth. A spurt of adrenaline hits me so hard that I can taste it, and then we’re running flat out along the side of the canal,
feet slapping on the raw brick, splashing through shallow puddles.
My elbow is suddenly yanked from behind, and I spin around and bash straight into Dan’s chest.
‘What you do that for?’ I yell, trying to wriggle free from his grip. From behind us there’s another churning splash.
He points to the left. There’s an archway built into the brick and beyond it a brightly lit area tiled in white. I would have run right past it. He pulls me along, and our wet feet
immediately start sliding on the slick tiled floor. Dan slips and now it’s my turn to grab his elbow and pull him up. We skid along as we both try and get a grip on the floor, like a scene in
a stupid slapstick comedy. The corridor curves to the right and then both of us stop dead as if we’ve hit an invisible brick wall.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Dan says.
It looks so unbelievably, reassuringly, banally normal .
In front of us is a grey metal lift door, the kind you see in low-end strip malls. There are two buttons either side of it, pointing up and down, and a row of back-lit numbers, ranging from 0 to
10 along the top of it. I look around for a stairwell door, but the rest of the wall is blank.
Looks like it’s the lift or nothing.
My phone beeps, making both of us jump.
‘Impossible,’ Dan says. ‘The battery must be soaked through.’
I scrabble in my pocket, hands fumbling and shaking, and pull out the last remains of the sodden envelope, my lighter, a tampon
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