The Serafina Series
It was a vast basement with many different rooms, corridors and levels, which had been built into the slope of the earth beneath the house. Some areas, like the kitchens and the laundry, had smooth plaster walls and windows. The rooms there were plainly finished, but clean and dry, and well-suited to the daily work of the servants. The more distant reaches of the understructure delved deep into the damp and earthen burrows of the house’s massive foundation. Here the dark, hardened mortar oozed out from between the roughly hewn stone blocks that formed the walls and ceiling, and she seldom went there because it was cold, dirty and dank.
Suddenly, the footsteps changed direction. They came towards her. Five screeching rats came running down the corridor ahead of the footfalls, more terrified than any rodents she had ever seen. Spiders crawled out of the cracks in the walls. Cockroaches and centipedes erupted from the earthen floor. Astounded by what she was seeing, she caught her breath and pressed herself to the wall, frozen in fear like a little rabbit kit trembling beneath the shadow of a passing hawk.
As the man walked towards her, she heard another sound too. It was a shuffling agitation like a small person – slippered feet, perhaps a child – but there was something wrong. The child’s feet were scraping on the stone, sometimes sliding . . . the child was crippled . . . no . . . the child was being dragged.
‘No, sir! Please! No!’ the girl whimpered, her voice trembling with despair. ‘We’re not supposed to be down here.’ The girl spoke like someone who had been raised in a well-heeled family and attended a fancy school.
‘Don’t worry. We’re going right in here . . .’ the man said, stopping at the door just round the corner from Serafina. Now she could hear his breathing, the movement of his hands, and the rustle of his clothing. Flashes of heat scorched through her. She wanted to run, to flee, but she couldn’t get her legs to move.
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of, child,’ he said to the girl. ‘I’m not going to hurt you . . .’
The way he said these words caused the hairs on the back of Serafina’s neck to rise. Don’t go with him, she thought. Don’t go!
The girl sounded like she was just a little younger than her, and Serafina wanted to help her, but she couldn’t find the courage. She pressed herself against the wall, certain that she would be heard or seen. Her legs trembled, feeling as if they would crumble beneath her. She couldn’t see what happened next, but suddenly the girl let out a bloodcurdling scream. The piercing sound caused Serafina to jump, and she had to stifle her own scream. Then she heard a struggle as the girl tore away from the man and fled down the corridor.
Run, girl! Run! Serafina thought.
The man’s steps faded into the distance as he went after her. Serafina could tell that he wasn’t running full-out but moving steadily, relentlessly, like he knew the girl couldn’t escape him. Serafina’s pa had told her that’s how the red wolves chase down and kill deer in the mountains – with dogged stamina rather than bursts of speed.
Serafina didn’t know what to do. Should she hide in a dark corner and hope he didn’t find her? Should she flee with the terror-stricken rats and spiders while she had the chance? She wanted to run back to her father, but what about the child? The girl was so helpless, so slow and weak and frightened, and, more than anything, she needed a friend to help her fight. Serafina wanted to be that friend; she wanted to help her, but she couldn’t bring herself to move in that direction.
Then she heard the girl scream again. That dirty, rotten rat’s gonna kill her, Serafina thought. He’s gonna kill her.
With a burst of anger and courage, she raced towards the sound. Her legs felt like explosions of speed. Her mind blazed with fear and exhilaration. She turned corner after corner. But when she came to the mossy stone stairway that led down into the deepest bowels of the sub-basement, she stopped, gasping for breath, and shook her head. It was a cold, wet, slimy, horrible place that she had always done her best to avoid – especially in the winter. She’d heard stories that they stored dead bodies in the sub-basement in the winter, when the ground was too frozen to dig a grave. Why in the world had the girl gone down there ?
Serafina made her way haltingly down the wet, sticky stairs, lifting and shaking off her foot after each slimy step she took. When at last she reached the bottom, she followed a long, slanting corridor where the ceiling dripped with brown sludge. The whole dank, disgusting place gave her the jitters something fierce, but she kept going.
You’ve got to help her, she told herself again. You can’t turn back.
She wound her way through a labyrinth of twisting tunnels. She turned right, then left, then left, then right until she lost track of how far she’d gone. Then she heard the sound of fighting and shouting just round the corner ahead of her. She was very close.
She hesitated, frightened, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst. Her body shook all over. She didn’t want to go another step, but friends had to help friends. She didn’t know much about life, but she did know that, knew that for sure, and she wasn’t going to run away like a scared-out-of-her-wits squirrel just when somebody needed her most. Trembling all over, she steadied herself the best she could, sucked in a deep breath and pushed herself round the corner.
A broken lantern lay tipped on the stone floor, its glass shattered but the flame still burning. In its halo of faltering light, a girl in a yellow dress struggled for her life. A tall man in a black cloak and hood, his hands stained with blood, grabbed the girl by the wrists.
The girl tried to pull away. ‘No! Let me go!’ she screamed.
‘Quiet down,’ the man told her, his voice seething in a dark, unworldly tone. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, child . . .’ he said for the second time.
The girl had curly blonde hair and pale white skin. She fought to escape, but the man in the black cloak pulled her towards him. He tangled her in his arms. She flailed and struck him in the face with her tiny fists.
‘Just stay still, and it will all be over,’ he said, pulling her towards him.
Serafina suddenly realised that she’d made a dreadful mistake. This was far more than she could handle. She knew that she should help the girl, but she was so scared that her feet stuck to the floor. She couldn’t even breathe, let alone fight.
Help her! Serafina’s mind screamed at her. Help her! Attack the rat! Attack the rat!
She finally plucked up her courage and charged forward, but just at that moment, the man’s black satin cloak floated upward as if possessed by a smoky spirit. The girl screamed. The folds of the cloak slithered around her like the tentacles of a hungry serpent. The cloak seemed to move of its own accord, wrapping, twisting, accompanied by a disturbing rattling noise, like the hissing threats of a hundred rattlesnakes. Serafina saw the girl’s horrified face looking at her from within the folds of the enveloping cloak, the girl’s pleading blue eyes wide with fear. Help me! Help me! Then the folds closed over her, the scream went silent and the girl disappeared, leaving nothing but the blackness of the cloak.
Serafina gasped in shock. One moment the girl was struggling to get free, and the next she had vanished into thin air. The cloak had consumed her. Overwhelmed with confusion, grief and fear, Serafina just stood there in stunned bewilderment.
For several seconds, the man seemed to vibrate violently, and a ghoulish aura glowed around him in a dark, shimmering haze. A horribly foul smell of rotting guts invaded Serafina’s nostrils, forcing her head to jerk back. She wrinkled her nose and squinched her mouth and tried not to breathe it in.
She must have made some sort of involuntary gagging noise, for the man in the black cloak suddenly turned and looked at her, seeing her for the first time. It felt like a giant claw gripped her around her chest. The folds of the man’s hood shrouded his face, but she could see that his eyes blazed with an unnatural light.
She stood frozen, utterly terrified.
The man whispered in a raspy voice. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, child . . .’
Hearing those eerie words jolted Serafina into action. She had just seen what those words led to.
Not this time, rat!
With a burst of new energy, she turned and ran.
She tore through the labyrinth of criss-crossing tunnels, running and running, certain that she was leaving him far in the distance. But, when she glanced over her shoulder, the hooded man was flying through the air right behind her, levitated by the power of the billowing black cloak, his bloody hands reaching towards her.
Serafina tried to run faster, but just as she came to the bottom of the stairs that led up to the main level of the basement, the man in the black cloak grabbed her. One hand clamped her shoulder. The other locked on to her neck. She turned and hissed like a snared animal. She whirled and clawed in a wild circle and broke herself free.
She bounded up the stairs three at a time, but he followed right behind her. He reached out and yanked her head back by her hair. She screamed in pain.
‘Time to give up now, little child,’ he said calmly, even as the tightening of his fist slowly tore strands of her hair from her head.
‘I ain’t never!’ she snarled, and bit his arm. She fought as hard as she could, scratching and clawing with her fingernails, but it didn’t matter. The man in the black cloak was far too strong. He pulled her into his chest, entangling her in his arms.
The folds of the black cloak rose up around her, pulsing with grey smoke. The awful rotting odour made her gag. All she could hear was that loathsome rattling noise as the cloak slithered and twisted its way around her body. She felt like she was being crushed in the coil of a boa constrictor.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, child . . .’ came the hideous rasping voice again, as if the man wasn’t of his own mind but possessed by a demented, ravenous demon.
The folds of the cloak cast a wretched pall over her, drenching her in a dripping, suffocating sickness. She felt her soul slipping away from her – not just slipping, but being yanked, being extracted. Death was so near that she could see its blackness with her own eyes and she could hear the screams of the children who had gone before her.
‘No! No! No!’ she screamed in defiance. She didn’t want to go. Hissing wildly, she reached up and clutched his face, clawing at his eyes. She kicked his chest with her feet. She bit him repeatedly, snapping like a snarling, rabid beast, and she tasted his blood in her mouth. The girl in the yellow dress had fought, but nothing like this. Finally, Serafina twisted out of his grip and spun to the ground. She landed on her feet and leapt away.
She wanted to get back to her pa, but she couldn’t make it that far. She fled down the corridor and dashed into the main kitchen. There were a dozen places to hide. Should she slip behind the black cast-iron ovens? Or crawl up among the copper pots hanging from the ceiling rack? No. She knew she had to find a better place.
She was back in her territory now, and she knew it well. She knew the darkness and she knew the light. She knew the left and the right. She had killed rats in every corner of this place, and there was no way she was going to let herself become one of those rats. She was the C.R.C. No trap or weapon or evil man was going to catch her. Like a wild creature, she ran and jumped and crawled.
When she reached the linen storage room, with all its wooden shelves and stacks of folded white sheets and blankets, she scampered into a crumbling break in the wall, in the back corner beneath the lowest shelf. Even if the man did notice the hole, it would seem impossibly small for anyone to fit through. But she knew it provided a shortcut into the back of the laundry.
She came out in the room where they hung and dried the fancy folks’ bedsheets. The moon had risen outside, and its light shone through the basement windows. Hundreds of flowing white sheets hung from the ceiling like ghosts, the silver moonlight casting them into an eerie glow. She slipped slowly between the hanging sheets, wondering if they would provide her the concealment she needed. But she thought better of it and kept going.
For good or ill, she had an idea. She knew that Mr Vanderbilt prided himself on installing the most advanced equipment at Biltmore. Her pa had constructed special drying racks that rolled on metal ceiling tracks that tucked into narrow chambers where the sheets and clothes were dried with the radiant heat of well-sealed steam pipes. Determined to find the best possible hiding place, she made herself small and pressed herself through the narrow slot of one of the machines.
When Serafina was born, there had been a number of things physically different about her. She had four toes on each foot rather than five, and although it was not noticeable just by looking at her, her collarbones were malformed such that they didn’t connect properly to her other bones. This allowed her to fit into some pretty tight spots. The opening in the machine was no more than a few inches wide, but as long as she could fit her head into something, she could push her whole body through. She wedged herself inside, into a dark little spot where she hoped the man in the black cloak wouldn’t find her.
She tried to be quiet, she tried to be still, but she panted like a little animal. She was exhausted, breathless and frightened beyond her wits. She’d seen the girl in the yellow dress consumed by the shadow-filled folds and knew the man in the black cloak was coming for her next. Her only hope was that he couldn’t hear the deafening pound of her heartbeat.
She heard him walking slowly down the hallway outside the kitchen. He’d lost her in the darkness, but he moved methodically from room to room, looking for her.
She heard him in the main kitchen, opening the doors of the cast-iron ovens. If I’d hidden there, she thought, I’d be dead now.
Then she heard him clanging through the copper pots, looking for her in the ceiling rack. If I’d hidden there, she thought, I’d be dead again.
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of,’ he whispered, trying to coax her out.
She listened and waited, trembling like a field mouse.
Finally, the man in the black cloak made his way into the laundry room.
Mice are timid and prone to panic-induced mistakes at key moments.
She heard the man moving from place to place, rummaging beneath the sinks, opening and closing the cabinets.
Just stay still, little mouse. Just stay still, she told herself. She wanted to break cover and flee so badly, but she knew that the dead mice were the dumb mice that panicked and ran. She told herself over and over again, Don’t be a dumb mouse. Don’t be a dumb mouse.
Then he came into the drying area where she was and moved slowly through the room, running his hands over the ghostly sheets.
If I’d hidden there . . .
He was just a few feet away from her now, looking around the room. Even though he couldn’t see her, he seemed to sense that she was there.
Serafina held her breath and stayed perfectly, perfectly, perfectly still.
Serafina slowly opened her eyes.
She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep or even where she was. She found herself crammed into a tight, dark space, her face pressed up against metal.
She heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She stayed quiet and listened.
It was a man in work boots, tools jangling. Feeling a burst of happiness, she wriggled her way out of the machine and into the morning sunlight pouring through the laundry windows.
‘Here I am, Pa!’ she cried, her voice parched and weak.
‘I’ve been gnawin’ on leather lookin’ for you,’ her pa scolded. ‘You weren’t in your bed this mornin’.’
She ran forward and hugged him, pressing herself into his chest. He was a large and hardened man with thick arms and rough, calloused hands. His tools hung from his leather apron, and he smelled faintly of metal, oil and the leather straps that drove the workshop’s machines.
In the distance, she heard the sounds of the staff arriving for the morning, the clanking of pots in the kitchen and the conversations of the workers. It was a glorious sound to her ears. The danger of the night was gone. She had survived!
Wrapped in her father’s arms, she felt safe and at home. He was more accustomed to mallets and rivets than a kind word, but he’d always taken care of her, always loved and protected her. She couldn’t hold back the tears of relief stinging her eyes.
‘Where’ve ya been, Sera?’ her father asked.
‘He tried to get me, Pa! He tried to kill me!’
‘What are you goin’ on about, girl?’ her pa said suspiciously, holding her by the shoulders with his huge hands. He looked intently into her face. ‘Is this another one of your wild stories?’
‘No, Pa,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘I ain’t in any kinda mood for stories.’
‘A man in a black cloak took a little girl, and then he came after me. I fought him, Pa! I bit him a good one! I spun round and clawed him, and I ran and ran and I got away and I hid. I crawled into your machine, Pa. That’s how I got away. It saved me!’
‘Whatcha mean, he took a girl?’ her pa said, narrowing his eyes. ‘What girl?’
‘He . . . he made her . . . She was right in front of me, and then she vanished before my eyes!’
‘Come on now, Sera,’ he said doubtfully. ‘You sound like you don’t know whether you’re washin’ the clothes or hangin’ ’em out.’
‘I swear, Pa,’ she said. ‘Just listen to me.’ She took a good, hard swallow and started at the beginning. As the story poured out of her, she realised how brave she’d actually been.
But her pa just shook his head. ‘You’ve had a bad dream is all. Been readin’ too many of them ghost stories. I told ya to stay away from Mr Poe. Now look at ya. You’re all scruffed up like a cornered possum.’
Her heart sank. She was telling him the God’s honest truth, and he didn’t believe a word of it. She tried to keep from crying, but it was hard. She was going on thirteen and he was still treating her like a child.
‘I wasn’t dreamin’, Pa,’ she said, wiping a sniffle from her nose.
‘Just calm yourself down,’ he grumbled. He hated it when she cried. She’d known since she was little that he’d rather wrangle with a good piece of sheet metal than deal with a weepy girl.
‘I’ve gotta go to work,’ he said gruffly as he separated from her. ‘The dynamo busted somethin’ bad last night. Now get on back to the workshop, and get some proper sleep in ya.’
Hot frustration flashed through her and she clenched her fists in anger, but she could hear the seriousness in his voice and knew there was no point in arguing with him. The Edison dynamo was an iron machine with copper coils and spinning wheels that generated a new thing called ‘electricity’. She knew from the books she’d read that most homes in America didn’t have running water, indoor toilets, refrigeration or even heating. But Biltmore had all these things. It was one of the few homes in America that had electric lighting in some of the rooms. But if her pa couldn’t get the dynamo working by nightfall the Vanderbilts and their guests would be plunged into darkness. She knew he had a lot of things on his mind, and she wasn’t one of them.
A wave of resentment swept through her. She’d tried to save a girl from an evil black-cloaked demon-thing and almost got herself killed in the process, but her pa didn’t care. All he cared about was his stupid machines. He never believed her about anything. To him, she was just a little girl, nothing important, nothing worth listening to, nothing anyone could count on for anything.
As she walked glumly back to the workshop, she fully intended to follow her pa’s instructions, but when she passed the stairway that led up to Biltmore Estate’s main floor she stopped and looked up the stairs.
She knew she shouldn’t do it.
She shouldn’t even think about doing it.
But she couldn’t help it.
Her pa had been telling her for years that she shouldn’t go upstairs, and lately she’d been trying to follow his rules at least some of the time, but today she was furious that he hadn’t believed her.
It’d serve him right if I didn’t listen to him.
She thought about the girl in the yellow dress. She tried to make sense of what she’d seen: the horrible black cloak and the wide-eyed fear in the girl’s face as she disappeared. Where had the girl gone? Was she dead or somehow still alive? Was there still a chance she could be saved?
Snippets of conversation drifted down the stairs. There was some sort of commotion. Had they found a body? Were they all crying in despair? Were they searching for a murderer?
She didn’t know if she was brave or stupid, but she had to tell someone what she’d seen. She had to figure out what had happened. Most of all, she had to help the girl in the yellow dress.
She began to climb the stairs.
Staying as small and quiet as she could, she crept up the steps one by one. A cacophony of sounds floated down to her: the echo of people talking, the rustling of clothing, dozens of different footsteps – it was a crowd of many people. Something was definitely happening up there. We’ve got to keep to ourselves, you and I. Her pa’s warning played in her mind as she climbed. There ain’t no sense in people seein’ you and askin’ questions.
She slunk to the top of the stairway, then ducked into an alcove on the main floor that looked onto a huge room full of fancy-dressed people who seemed to be gathering for some type of grand social event.
Massive, ornately crafted wrought-iron-and-glass doors led into the Entrance Hall, with its polished marble floor and vaulted ceiling of hand-carved oak beams. Soaring limestone arches led from this central room to the various wings of the mansion. The ceiling was so high she had the urge to climb up there and peer down. She’d been here before, but she had always loved the room and couldn’t help marvelling at it again, especially in the daylight. She’d never seen so many glistening, beautiful things, so many soft surfaces to sit on and so many interesting places to hide. Spotting an upholstered chair, she felt an overwhelming desire to run her fingernails over the plush fabric. All the room’s colours were so bright, and the surfaces were so clean and shiny. She didn’t see any mud or grease or dirt anywhere. There were brightly coloured vases filled with flowers – to think! Flowers, actually inside the house. Sunlight flooded in from the sparkling, leaded-glass windows of the spiralling, four-story-high Grand Staircase and the glass-domed Winter Garden, with its spraying fountain and tropical plants. She squinted her eyes against the brightness.
The Entrance Hall teemed with dozens of beautifully attired ladies and gentlemen along with manservants in black-and-white uniforms helping them to prepare for a morning of horseback riding. Serafina stared at a lady who wore a riding dress made of white-piped green velvet and cranberry-red damask. Another woman wore a lovely mauve habit with dark purple accents and a matching hat. There were even a few children there, clothed as finely as their parents. Her eyes darted around the room as she tried to take it all in.