Amelia

AMELIA

I feel crazy for thinking it, but I don’t think I’m alone down in the crypt. I blink into the darkness, and spin around, but I can’t see anything. In my imagination, the walls are closing in on me, and I think I hear my name being whispered in the shadows.

Amelia. Amelia. Amelia.

My breathing soon starts to get out of control. I feel my chest tighten as though a heavy weight is pressing down on my lungs, and picture invisible hands strangling me as my throat starts to close.

Then the trapdoor opens up above, but I still can’t see.

“Are you okay?” Adam’s voice calls into the darkness.

“No! What happened?”

“I don’t know; power cut, I suspect. I dropped the door when the lights went out, sorry. Try and make your way toward the steps.”

“I … can’t breathe!”

He doesn’t just hear my words, he hears the rasping sound of my breaths between them.

“Where is your inhaler?” he shouts.

“Don’t … know. Handbag.”

“Where’s that?”

“Can’t remember. Kitchen … table?”

“Wait there,” he says, as if I have a choice.

I’ve had asthma since I was a little girl—being raised by people who chain-smoked and living in inner-city flats probably didn’t help. Not all of my foster parents were child friendly. My asthma isn’t as much of a problem these days, but there are still things that can trigger an attack. Being trapped in an underground crypt in the dark seems to be one of them. I edge forward trying to find the steps out of here, but my fingers only find a damp wall, and a cold metal ring. It makes me shudder. If only the torch batteries hadn’t died, or I had my phone. I think of all the candles up in the library, wishing that I had one now, but then I remember the matchbox I used to light them. It’s still in my pocket.

The first match I strike goes out almost instantly—it’s an old box.

I use the second to try and get my bearings, but I still can’t see the steps, and I’m struggling to get enough air into my lungs.

The third match I strike briefly illuminates part of the wall, and I notice all the scratch marks on the surface. It looks like someone, or something, once tried to claw their way out of here.

I try to stay calm, remember to breathe, but then the flame burns the tips of my fingers and I drop the final match on the floor.

Everything is black.

And then I hear it again. My name being whispered. Right behind me.

Amelia. Amelia. Amelia.

My breaths are too shallow, but I can’t control them and I think I’m going to faint. No matter what direction I look in, all I can see is darkness. Then I hear the sound of scratching.