The Forgotten God

Chapter 48

Aiden stepped cautiously over the rubble that half blocked the doorway, the remains of the frame and the crumpled metal of the once strong occupant, the lock the only thing still intact.

Beyond, the shadows stretched into nothing in the long corridor, the only chinks of light flickering like willow-the-wisp from under sealed doors.

"Watch your step," Aiden warned, holding the wall as he worked his one leg. He was starting to get the hang of it now, but that didn't mean he wanted to fall flat on his face and practice getting up. "These places have been going to wrack and ruin for years. If you're a bit of a prude, I'd avoid paying too much mind to the graffiti, it's pretty colourful in parts."

Ash chuckled politely at the attempt to lift the mood, moving around to offer an arm. The darkness was so thick, one slip and Lord knew what one would land on. Already his mind was working overtime, imagining all sorts of ghouls and long-legged beasties lurking unseen.

Aiden looked to the ground. "Look," he whispered urgently. "I ought to..."

He trailed off as a strange sensation tightened about his throat.

'No, no, no!' A gravelly voice rippled uncomfortably through him. 'I sense you have erred already. One more foolish folly and we will have more than words, puny one! Remember what I can offer, dreams or death!'

"Ought to what?" Ash looked at him. "What's up?"

"Oh, just ought to tell you that a lot of stuff is pretty unstable," Aiden laughed awkwardly. "Just in case you go to open a door and the hinges go, you don't want to end up injured. Plus, watch your step, most of the bulbs have blown. I've lit small fires but you have to be careful with that, unlike some I like to try and take care of where I am."

It wasn't a complete lie. He did try at first but soon, the drugs took over and rubbish piled up and hygiene was buried in a grave of needles and bottles. He'd been evicted twice, the stench overpowering the neighbours and the rats creeping in, even if he was blind to it.

His toilet had overflowed, the urine and faeces seeping into the carpet and polluting the apartment below, but he'd not noticed. His eyes on the next fix.

Now he lived in a dump, with small holidays in other abandoned houses. A tramp amongst vermin and scorned by society. Not even earning a couple of pennies sitting on the streets, who would give it? It was clear where it went.

"Right." Ash looked sceptical. "Noted."

He bent down and picked up a chunk of brick. It was hardly a lethal weapon but it was better than nothing. He met Mr Montford's gaze. He gave a small incline of his head, his grip on the small relic tightening.

Their feet crunched and crushed fallen debris as they proceeded to the main room, the air starting to clear only slightly as the heated breeze blew through the broken windows.

"I'm not sure I trust him," Mr Montford whispered to Marie. "But I'm not sure I trust anyone now, present company excepted." He paused, aches and pains returning tenfold after the rush of adrenaline dissipated. He sniffed the air, a subtle smell of smoke responding. "Still, I suppose he's at least been honest about the fire."

"You need to concentrate on yourself," Marie said tiredly. "We all need rest, water and all those everyday essentials we took for granted. Especially a bubble bath."

"One thing I cannot provide at this moment."

Behind them, the remains of a door slammed, sending down a small avalanche of dirt and cement, making any escape slower and harder. In the near distance, the sound of death echoed, summoned and waiting beyond the threshold for any who decided that the sanctuary was not for them.