The Lurker in Empty Spaces
an excerpt

Chapter One
Durham, November

1

Peter knelt by his unconscious friend and knew today would not be a good day. He rested the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature. Her skin was cold and covered in a film of sweat. He swore under his breath, cursing her for not taking better care of herself and cursing himself for not seeing this coming.
She was laid on the bathroom floor of her small flat and, Peter decided, had likely been there all night. This was not the first time he had found her like this and it was unlikely to be the last.
Peter stood and stepped around her to reach the sink. He washed his hands, doing so out of habit rather than through any fear that he might catch the illness that was slowly eating away at his friend. She began to stir as he was drying his hands.
'Sarah?' he said by way of telling her he was here.
Sarah did not reply. She opened her eyes slowly, like they were lead weights and she needed all her strength just to lift them. She looked around, saw Peter and smiled the most lethargic of smiles, then closed her eyes again. Peter shook his head slowly and sighed. He knelt beside her again and shook her shoulder gently.
'Come on, Sarah,' he said. 'You can't lie here all day.'
'Jus' gimme a minute,' she mumbled.
Peter despaired. Looking after a sick friend was not how he had planned to spend his day off.

2

Sarah felt like someone had stolen her body when she was asleep and replaced it with a lead cadaver, then set fire to all her nerves. Her mind was awake and she heard Peter talking to her but replying to him meant summoning enough strength to get her body moving, and that did not look like it was going to happen any time soon.
Pains like small thunder storms coursed through her limbs and the ground felt rough. She wondered where she was. Thinking back a little, her memory suddenly swam back to clarity.
The day before had been busy. She had spent the night and part of the morning in the ferry port in Zeebrugge after a long and tiring journey. She had slept very little on a sweltering coach, then tried to bed down in a cold ferry terminal after traffic congestion caused her to miss her connection. Getting home had been a relief, but by then the damage had been done. She needed a lot of sleep just to keep up enough strength to get through even the least demanding of days and her time on the continent had been hard work.
Opening her eyes was a huge effort. The familiar dull ache behind her eyeballs was missing, replaced by an intense burning sensation. She shut her eyes and groaned. Why was Peter here and why was he bothering her?
Because you 'phoned him last night, remember? part of her mind that was more awake than the rest told her.
'Come on, Sarah,' Peter told her. 'You can't lie here all day.'
Why not? she asked herself.
Because you are lying on the bathroom floor was the answer. Still, moving was going to be difficult, if not impossible. She lacked the strength to lift herself off the ground and even if she had the energy to move, her limbs were too heavy, too unresponsive. Her muscles felt tight and painful.
Today was going to have to be a day of rest, and tomorrow would probably be similarly wasted. Peter should just leave her alone. He would not, of course. She was certain of that.
'Just give me a minute,' she said, mumbling her words. She could feel herself drifting off to sleep again.

3

The next thing Sarah knew she was laid in bed with the sounds and scents of eggs frying in the kitchen drifting in through the open door. The bright light poking in around the edges of the curtains still hurt her eyes but she felt better equipped to deal with it now than she had before. Fighting against the cries for rest of every cell in her body, she turned over and looked at her alarm clock.
Its old, red LCR display read 13:59 in tall, easy-to-read letters. She had been asleep for more than twelve hours. It did not feel like enough. After a fortnight spent sleeping badly, in a rickety bed in a secluded part of the German countryside, twelve hours was a reasonable time for catching-up on some overdue zeds.
Peter walked in, carrying an old wooden tray with frayed handles. He set the tray down on the bedside table, knocking several bottles of tablets onto the floor as he did so.
'Sorry,' he said, kneeling to pick up the bottles.
'Don't worry about it,' Sarah told him.
'I've made you something to eat,' he said. 'It looked like you needed it.'
'I just want to sleep, Pete,' she told him. As if on cue, a wave of tiredness washed over her. She yawned.
'Have you taken your tablets?' Peter asked.
They both knew the answer to that question. Much of Sarah's medication could not be taken on an empty stomach.
Sarah sighed. 'You know I haven't,' she told him.
'Then you'd best eat this so you can take them. You can sleep after.'
Sarah strained to push herself into a sitting position. Peter handed her a plate on which two fried eggs, a round of toast and a portion of baked beans had been arranged with no real care. Sarah remembered the year she had lived with Peter when they were both students. This had been his idea of a gourmet meal, the pinnacle of culinary excellence. To Sarah it looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. Still, she had to eat to take her tablets and if she missed those out, she knew the next couple of days would be spent in agony. She might even wake up in hospital again.
Peter sipped a mug of black coffee while Sarah ate. He looked as though there was something on his mind, although what it could be was a mystery to Sarah. She wondered if he was just tired. She was certain the long hours at the hospital would take their toll on anyone after a while.
'How was your trip?' Peter asked.
'It was good,' Sarah said. 'I think it was worth it just to see things up close. Got some good photographs for my paper, too.'
Peter nodded. 'Find anything new?'
'I wish,' Sarah laughed. 'I think I have some new ideas about the reason the temple was built and why the tombs were there but we didn't actually uncover anything new.'
'I bet Graham thinks it was a wasted trip, then.'
'Don't say that to him,' Sarah warned. 'He's disappointed enough as it is.'
Well who wouldn't be in his situation? she thought. Graham had gone out to Bavaria in the hope of discovering a hidden secret, something that would prove his theories about the temple Doctor Koze had found in the Altmühltal Nature Park in the early 1950s.
According to his reports, Doctor Koze had initially thought the temple to be a small burial chamber from a small community that had lived in the forests during the early Bronze Age. As his team excavated the site it became clear that while it had indeed been used to inter several corpses, the site had markings and features that suggested a ritualistic use as well.
The temple was situated fifteen feet below the surface, in the nature park a mile or so from the small town of Altenberg. Graham's team, on which Sarah had managed to secure a place by virtue of her research into the psychology behind occult beliefs, had stayed in Altenberg for the last fortnight, using it as their base instead of pitching tents in the forest itself. It had been a long walk, there and back every day, and that exercise alone had been almost too much for Sarah to cope with. Despite all that, she would not have missed the opportunity to visit the site first hand.
'Sarah?' Peter asked.
Sarah's mind leaped back to the present in one quick jolt.
'Sorry?' she proffered.
'You were daydreaming,' Peter said. 'Your breakfast is getting cold.'
'Oh. Right. Sorry.'
Sarah finished off the rest of her meal, downed several tablets from the pile of packets beside her bed and tried to fight the urge to simply go back to sleep. Every part of her body cried out for rest but right now she had a visitor so that was not an option.
'Thanks for cooking for me,' she said.
'You're welcome,' said Peter.
He flashed her a thin smile that made her believe there was something on his mind.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'Nothing,' he replied, quickly.
'Are you sure?'
Peter nodded, saying 'Yes, I'm sure.'
Despite Peter's protestations, Sarah was certain something was on his mind. She knew him well enough to not force the issue but she told herself she would at some point get him to talk about what was bothering him. In her experience it was not good for a person to keep their problems bottled up.
Sarah lifted the plate from her lap. It felt heavy but she knew it was not, it was made from cheap materials and was very light, her arms were simply drained of strength. As she twisted to put the plate on her bedside table Peter took the plate from her hands and slipped it onto the tray.
'Let me, in case you drop it,' he said by way of explanation.
'I think I can move my own plates, Peter,' Sarah protested.
'You shouldn't be moving anything. You should be resting,' Peter said.
Sarah recognised his firm tone as the one he normally reserved for talking to unruly patients when he had worked on the wards during his time as a junior doctor.
'I'm perfectly alright,' she lied. 'Besides, I dragged you all the way here on your day off. Don't you want to know why?'
'I'm sure it can wait,' he told her. 'Get some rest.'
He did not wait for her reply. He simply picked up the tray from the bedside table and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Sarah made no attempt to argue with him. He was right, of course. She needed rest, her body was screaming out for it, but she had so much to do now she was back home. She sighed, resigning herself to letting the day slip away from her, and carefully lowered herself into a lying position. With any luck the tablets would help keep the worst of her illness at bay and she would be up and about tomorrow.

4

Sarah sat on the ground in a patch of dense woodland. Somehow she knew she was in Altmühltal Nature Park although she did not know how, or why. It did not look like this when she had been there just days before. The trees were taller now, they loomed over her. The ground was a soft, crumbly dirt that felt more like the garden centre dirt she used to re-pot her house plants.
The forest was deathly quiet, like no other living creature was in it. The wind blew the upper branches of the trees, serving more to highlight the silence than to provide any background noise itself. The silence was broken by a hollow sound of stone sliding across stone. Sarah turned around to find the source of the noise.
Before her was a tall stone archway formed from large slabs of roughly-hewn granite. The arch was plugged by a mound of rock that two robed figures were busying themselves moving. Sarah stared at them, transfixed by their appearance. There was something wrong with them but she could not put her finger on what.
The figures dragged the granite plug free of the arch and slowly began to maneuver it into a secure position to the side of the stone structure. With the archway now clear, Sarah could see a deep black space that seemed to call out to her, inviting her to enter and head down into the unknown depths. The call of whatever may lurk beyond the arch was too much for Sarah to overcome. She walked, perhaps even glided, toward the cool, dark space.
If the figures working on moving the vast stone slab noticed her as she passed, they did not show it. It was as if she was simply a ghost, able to pass unseen by those around her; free to go wherever she wished without let or hindrance.
Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and Sarah saw before her a steep, stone staircase, spiralling downward into the black. A sweet scent floated upward from the depths, permeating her being and making her skin tingle. The air, which she imagined had not been breathed by a living soul for time immemorial, was refreshingly cool on her warm skin. She breathed in deeply, savouring the icy feeling as the cold air filled her lungs. She had not felt this alive in years.
The staircase seemed to wind on and on forever, descending far beneath the surface, into the real depths of the Earth. At regular intervals crumbling braziers had been fastened to the walls, holding torches that were now long gone. Despite the lack of any light source, Sarah found herself still able to see well enough to press on down the stone spiral; toward whatever might lie at its base. She asked herself why she had come down here and why she had chosen to remain but in truth she already knew the answer. She found curiosity to be a dangerous mistress but it was one she could not fail to satisfy.
The temperature dropped quickly as she descended the last few feet, becoming cold enough for Sarah to see her breath hang in the air. At the bottom of the staircase was a large cavern with smooth walls. It reminded her of the temple she had spent the last fortnight investigating, only much larger and somehow more ominous for it. Sarah shivered, then laughed nervously at herself. She told herself it was just the cold and the dark getting to her, nothing more.
In the centre of the room stood a large, stone slab upon which many melted candles sat. It was difficult to say how many there were or whether they were simply one large globule of wax that had been melted over the stone and had wicks pressed into it. Despite the candles, which each burned brightly, the gloom of the cavern remained impenetrable.
Footsteps echoed down the staircase. Sarah looked around to see the robed figures descending slowly. She stepped away from the staircase and backed into the gloom so as not to get in their way.
The figures headed toward the candle-draped centrepiece and were joined by more figures that seemed to form out of the gloom. Sarah watched as they formed a perfect circle around the slab, each chanting in the same low tones.
They chanted in a language Sarah did not recognise, but listening to it made all the hairs on her skin stand on end. It had an ethereal quality to it; something unearthly yet very human, and altogether sinister in nature. Although she could not understand what was said, she saw images in her mind of an ancient menace that lurked in the empty regions of the world.
The chanting rose and fell in intensity, building suddenly then ebbing away to a low murmur in a rhythm that reminded Sarah of the tides of the sea. At one of its peaks, the chanting was joined by a slow, steady scratching coming from inside the slab at the centre of the circle. The rhythm of the chanting changed, becoming more intense, more urgent. Summoning almost; calling something out. The language was still impenetrable but now the same words were repeated again and again.
'Kalim Tundun! Kalim Tundun! Kalim Tundun!' the figures chanted.
The sound of this wretched language made Sarah's skin crawl. The spectacle she was witnessing felt wholly wrong to her, like its simplicity was a deception masking something terrible beneath it.
The scratching became a steady thud, thud. With each thud, the candles on the stone slab shook and Sarah realised the slab was hollow, a sarcophagus housing who knew what.
The lid began to move, stone scraping against stone. From the widening gap flowed thin, black smoke. A foul stench like rotten meat filled the air. Sarah choked back an urge to cough as this foetid odour filled her lungs.
Smells are just particles of whatever is causing the scent, something in the back of her mind told her. You're breathing in whatever is in that crypt.
'Shut up!' she hissed, instantly regretting having spoken. She had no idea why she had said anything in the first place.
If any of the figures heard her, they did not show it. None turned, none deviated from their rhythmic chanting.
'Kalim Tundun!' they droned.
The black smoke collected in the flickering candlelight above the sarcophagus, forming a pulsating hulk of darkness that seemed to take on a kind of solidness that Sarah could not explain. Parts of it lurched out of the main bulk, protruding at odd angles as if the whole were a shell with something inside battling to escape.
Then there was no more smoke rising from the stone tomb. The mass floated above the tomb while the lid slid back into place, accompanied by the hollow sound of stone grinding over stone. The sound was muted however, as if coming from a great distance or heard through a thick wall. Sarah watched as the lid slid over the sarcophagus without visible aid, then came to rest back in its original position.
'Kalim g'th un tunk'unuf Tundunnis!' the robed figures chanted.
Now a scratching sound could be heard from within the pulsating mass of smoke that now looked as dark and as thick as oil suspended in the air. Sarah stared, transfixed as the mass spun slowly in the air, becoming a solid ball of deep black smoke.
Then, without warning, the ball fell.
It smashed against the sarcophagus like glass, casting out fragments that dispersed soundlessly into the air. Within seconds there was no trace of the smoke visible in the light of the candles. The circle of robed figures closed around the sarcophagus, blocking Sarah's view.
Beneath the steady chanting of the figures Sarah could hear a new noise. It sounded like the chittering of some kind of insect; high pitched and frenetic. Sarah's skin crawled at the thought of what could be causing it. Insects were one of her biggest fears.
The chittering was quickly drowned out as one by one the chanters began rapturous cries of 'Yakh ipfh Kalim!' then collapsed, crumpling on the floor as if they were manikins whose strings were severed without warning. Their robes shuddered and twitched as they fell, then landed empty on the floor as if cast off, leaving no sign of their wearers.
Soon the chanters were all gone, their empty robes all that remained as indications that they had ever even existed. The chittering remained, although its source was not apparent. Sarah stepped closer, her footfalls once again producing no sound in the vast cavern. The foetid stench of rotten meat hung in the air around the sarcophagus like a spectre, or a ward to deter those who should not come too close. Sarah pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and used it to shield her face as she crouched to examine the robes.
The closest robes had appeared empty but on closer inspection they were twitching. The chittering was marginally louder now she had neared the sarcophagus and although fear threatened to engulf her, Sarah found she could not resist the urge to lift the fallen hood of one robe to discover what lurked beneath.
Under the rough, brown cloth lay an upturned beetle the size of Sarah's fist, its shiny black legs writing in the air in an attempt to right itself. Sarah shuddered, dropped the robe and fell backwards in fright. She landed on her backside atop another robe and felt something climb onto her left hand. Glancing at it, she shrieked in horror. Another beetle, this one with deep red, vice-like mandibles, was slowly creeping up her arm. She tried to shake it off but it held firm.
Panicking, she swatted at the creature with her other hand, dropping her handkerchief in the process. The foul stench from the sarcophagus filled her mouth and nostrils. Her stomach churned. More insects began crawling up her legs. She kicked out, trying to shake the creatures off but to no avail. They bit deep into her legs, coating her faded grey denim jeans with tiny pinpricks of deep red blood.
Her stomach churned more violently and panic took a firm grip over her. She turned onto her hands and knees and vomited, expelling a foul smelling, viscous black fluid. Things writhed in the black vomitus; tiny creatures that chittered and writhed as they attempted to free themselves from the hideous, oily liquid that had birthed them. Sarah cried in horror as she saw these creatures, these things that had existed inside her.
She crawled backward, eager to escape from the writhing black pool of vomited insects. More creatures clambered onto her body from beneath the robes, overwhelming her thin frame. Quickly they climbed, crawling over on another in their eagerness to subsume her entirely. She swiped at them with ever quickening attempts to dislodge them from her form but her attempts were futile. She was quickly engulfed in a mass of black, chittering creatures.
As they bit into her face, she screamed.

5

Sarah awoke screaming and kicking at her bedsheets, which clung damply to her body. It was several seconds before her mind registered where she was. She gulped shallow breaths and tried to push the hideous memory of the cavern and the strange insects from her mind.
Peter burst into the room in a panic to match Sarah's own. She screamed again, this time in shock.
'What's the matter?' he demanded.
'Shit, Peter, I just had a nightmare,' Sarah said. She clenched her fists to stop her hands trembling, ignoring the pain doing so caused her. 'It was horrible. It felt so real.'
Peter sat down on the end of the bed. He looked saddened but relieved.
'Well it's over now,' he told her.
Peter patted Sarah's leg in what was meant to be a comforting manner. To Sarah it felt like he was poking at an open wound.
'Don't do that,' Sarah snapped. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them. Her limbs protested at the effort but she ignored them.
'Sorry,' Peter said, meekly. 'I forgot.'
'No, I'm sorry,' Sarah said. She ran a hand through her hair, hooking it behind her ear. Her scalp ached at the touch. 'I'm being a pain, I know, and I don't mean to keep snapping at you. I do appreciate you being here.'
'I know,' Peter said, nodding. 'And if I were in your position, I'd probably be grumpy too, so I try to cut you a lot of slack.'
'Hey, I'm not grumpy!' Sarah protested. 'I'm just not at my best, y'know?'
Peter laughed. 'Well we'll just have to agree to differ, eh? How are you feeling anyway?'
'A little better, thanks. I think it's going to take a few days before I'm back to normal but I'm going to be okay.'
'That's good to hear. I'll be through in the lviing room. Give me a shout if you need me.'
'I think I'll join you,' Sarah said.
She carefully edged over to the side of the bed and stood up slowly. Peter put his arm around her waist and helped her up. She winced at his touch.
'Sorry,' he apologised.
'It's okay,' she assured him.
'Are you sure you're up to this?' he asked, the expression on his face the epitome of concern.
'I'm not going to get back to sleep any time soon, hon.'
Sarah walked slowly, leaning heavily on Peter and wondering if she was doing the right thing by getting out of bed so soon. Exercise often helped her condition by keeping her muscles and joints active but she knew that too much strain would do more harm than good.
With Peter's help she reached the dark green sofa that dominated the floor of her small lounge. She wrapped her dressing gown tightly around herself, sat down on the sofa and immediately found herself starting to drift off to sleep. Peter sat beside her, flicking through television channels.
'Is there anything you'd like to watch?' he asked.
'I don't know,' Sarah replied. 'You're going through the channels too quickly for me to see what's on.'
'I'm just flicking through the dull ones,' Peter protested.
'Put the news on. Let's see who's having a worse day than we are.'
Peter dutifully switched to the news channel, which was running a light hearted piece about an animal sanctuary's fiftieth anniversary. Sarah cooed at the images of cute animals being fed by the sanctuary's employees.
'I always wanted a cat,' she said.
'Aren't you allergic to them?' Peter asked, although he already knew the answer.
'Well, yes but that's not the point.'
'It's a pretty good point though.'
'Oh be quiet.'
Sarah yawned, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand as she did so. Patches on the back of her hand had turned a dull yellow while she had been laid in bed, suggesting more bruising was on its way. Peter looked at Sarah with renewed concern.
'Your hands look a little worse for wear,' he told her.
Sarah looked at her hands, turning them over and examining them as if she was seeing them for the first time.
'Yeah,' she concluded. 'It's to be expected I suppose.'
She pulled the sleeves of her dressing gown over her hands and sat in silences, staring at the television. Peter wondered if he had done the right thing in mentioning anything to her. She was, after all, well aware of her illness already so why keep bringing it up? He had to stop fussing over her, it was the only answer.
On the television the newsreaders finished their banter and put on a more serious expression. The younger of the two, a blonde woman in her mid thirties, turned to the camera and began reading a new story.
'Detectives in Coxburn are investigating the disappearance of a group of squatters from a disused hotel,' she said. 'John Francis has the details.'
The screen flicked to an image of a man with a long, thin face and round spectacles. He was wearing a large coat and scarf, and holding a microphone close to his face.
'The Coxburn Arms hotel has been closed since the 1950s following the death of all guests and staff in what has been called the most horrific crime the region had ever seen,' he said. 'Since its closure it has become home to a large group of squatters and a haven for local drug users. Now, the squatters have vanished and the hotel is once again the focus of intense police activity.
'In the early hours of the morning, local police and fire crews were called to the hotel after nearby residents reported seeing lights and thick smoke in the building. When they arrived, the hotel was engulfed in a cloud of thick, black smoke.
'Fire crews were baffled by the smoke, which had no apparent source. When it lifted, apparently of its own accord, there was no damage to the building and no cause of either the smoke or the lights has yet been identified.
'Police were similarly baffled over the apparent disappearance of the squatter community that had built up in the hotel. In its heyday in the 1960s and early 1970s the hotel was home to more than thirty squatters at a time, although that number had reduced to just a dozen in recent years. Now, there are none.
'Whether their departure was caused or in some way linked to this morning's events or not remains to be seen. Police and the local fire department expect their investigations to carry on for the next few days and we'll bring you more news on these strange events as we hear it. John Francis, BBC News, Coxburn.'
'Weird,' Peter concluded.
Sarah said nothing. She was staring into space and chewing her lower lip, a habit Peter had grown to understand meant she was lost in her own thoughts. He left her alone with them, deciding now was as good a time as any to go and make a pot of tea.
Sarah's kitchen was small, like the rest of the flat, but spotlessly clean, unlike most of the flat. It was built in a galley style, making the best use of the space as possible. Peter hated it. It felt cramped to him, with his large, muscular build. He felt it was designed without the taller gent in mind.
He hunted around in the many cupboards for a teapot; eventually finding a dusty blue one in the back of the lower cupboard by the refrigerator, hidden behind a large bag of dried pasta. He rinsed it and dropped in a couple of teabags while he waited for the kettle to boil. At one time he had wondered what kind of thinking went into Sarah's unique approach to storing things in her kitchen. After spending a year living with her when they were both in their final years as undergraduates he had found out: there was no thinking, she simply stuffed things in cupboards wherever they would fit. For Sarah, planning seemed to happen to other people.

6

Black smoke, Sarah thought. Black smoke with no apparent cause. Well, yes, as yet no apparent cause but still, it's an odd coincidence.
Her train of thought was interrupted by Peter busying himself laying out a tea set on the big mahogany coffee table that sat in the centre of the lounge. He poured her a mug of tea from a teapot she did not remember seeing before and handed it over. She took it in both hands, enjoying its warmth on her cold fingers.
'Where did you get that teapot?' she asked.
'It was in a cupboard,' Peter replied.
He sat down beside her, cradling a large mug in one of his equally large, strong hands.
'I didn't know I had a teapot,' Sarah continued.
'Well that's what happens when you just stuff things anywhere you can. Your cupboards are a right mess.'
'Yeah but they look tidy from the outside and that's what counts. You've met my Mother, remember?'
'Ah, yes,' said Peter. 'She still visits then?'
'She comes 'round a few times a week, making sure I'm not dead and all that.'
'I'm sure that's not the real reason.'
'Probably not but I could stand to see a bit less of her, you know?'
Peter nodded.
'That thing on the news about Coxburn was interesting, don't you think?' Sarah asked, changing the subject.
'Where is Coxburn anyway?'
'About ten miles away. My tutor in my second year used to live there, I think.'
'The tall one with the buck teeth?'
'No, that was Greg's dad, wasn't it? I meant Doctor Dobson, the plump woman with frizzy hair.'
'She was your tutor? I thought she was the janitor.'
'They do look alike now you mention it. Anyway, what do you think about this thing with the squatters?'
'I don't know. It could be anything.'
'Think it's worth a look into?'
'Well you obviously do or you wouldn't have asked.'
'You know me far too well,' Sarah said, smiling. 'It's the thing about the smoke that got my attention. That didn't sound natural to me.'
Peter shrugged. 'Clouds don't sound natural when they're explained. Tonnes of water floating about in the sky? How's that work?'
'We're not talking about clouds though, are we? They said smoke hung around a building then went away. I really don't think that's normal.'
'All I'm saying is you should keep an open mind. Think about it for a few days before jumping in feet first and getting disappointed again.'
Sarah nodded. 'Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll look into it when I feel a little better. Happy now?'
Peter smiled. 'Ecstatic, my dear,' he said.