Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

around us, keeping pace with our descent. I smelled burning tar and smoke and sweat, and an overwhelming stink of fear. Someone cried out in a language I didn’t understand. It was a simple cry of desperation, a plea for help. Chain mail clinked, a blow fell; I heard a moan of pain.
    Onwards, downwards went the boots, and with every step we took, the dreadful atmosphere of terror grew stronger and more palpable. Now there was not one pleading voice, but several – and as I listened, their cries began to rise in volume and become more desperate and shrill. Louder, ever louder . . . soon they swallowed up the other sounds – the tramping boots and rattling mail – until it seemed there was just a single swelling outcry deep down in the earth, a hysterical screech of fear . . .
    I snatched my hand away.
    Gone. I took a gulp of smoky air, and anxiously scannedthe wall. Thank goodness. Just for a moment my shadow had seemed a little different. Taller, thinner, sharper and more hunched . . . No, it was still the same. And the sound had gone.
    I fumbled my glove back onto my numbed fingers. Gone . . .
    Except that it hadn’t. I could still hear it. Faint and far away, the echo of the scream went on.
    ‘Erm, guys . . .’ I said.
    Lockwood stopped dead in front of me. He gave a cry. ‘Of course ! I’ve been an idiot!’
    George and I stood and stared. ‘What?’ George said. ‘What is it?’
    ‘It’s been right in front of us all this time!’
    ‘What has?’
    ‘The answer to it all. Ah, I’m such a fool!’
    Frowning, I held my gloved palm against my head. I was listening; listening hard. ‘Lockwood, wait,’ I said. ‘Can’t you hear—’
    ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ George said. ‘Lockwood, you’ve been acting odd for days. Tell us what’s going on. Clearly it’s about Fairfax, and since it’s his job that’s put us in such danger, I think you owe us an explanation.’
    Lockwood nodded. ‘Yes, I do. But first we’ve got to find the Source. Then—’
    ‘No,’ George said. ‘Not good enough. Tell us now.’
    The scream was swelling, faint but growing in force. Candles flickered. Shadows distorted on the walls. ‘Lockwood,’ I pleaded. ‘ Listen .’
    ‘We’ve got to stay alert, George,’ Lockwood said. ‘There’s no time to explain.’
    ‘Speak quickly, then, and use short words.’
    ‘ No! Both of you – shut up! ’ They looked at me. My fingers scraped at my temples; my teeth were clenched. The dreadful sound had just erupted at full volume from the walls. ‘Can’t you hear it?’ I whispered. ‘It’s the screaming .’
    Lockwood frowned. ‘What? No . . . I don’t think so.’
    ‘Take it from me! This is the staircase! We need to get off it now .’
    There was a moment’s hesitation, but Lockwood was too good a leader to ignore so strong a warning. He grasped my hand. ‘All right, we’ll get you down to the bottom. Maybe the noise will stop there. Maybe it’s only you, Lucy, who can—’ He broke off. His fingers clenched mine; I felt him stagger on the steps. There’d been another swell in the sound; for the first time it broke through some physical barrier, became audible to ears less sensitive than mine.
    I looked back. George had frozen too, his eyes stretched wide. He said something, but I couldn’t hear him. The scream was just too loud.
    ‘Down!’ Lockwood shouted; at least, I could see him mouthing the word. ‘ Down! ’ He was reeling, but he still heldmy hand tightly. He pulled; behind me George came tumbling, fists jammed tight against his ears. We threw ourselves downwards through the spiralling light and dark, with the candle flames leaping crazily and our shadows veering up the walls.
    All around us rose the scream, issuing directly from the steps and stones. Its volume was appalling – painful as repeated blows – but it was the psychic distress it carried that made it so unbearable, that made your gorge rise and your head split and the world spin before your eyes. It was the sound of the terror of death, drawn out indefinitely, extending on for ever. It spiralled around us, clawing at our minds.
    Down, down, and round and round, and all at once the shadows rushing with us were not our own, but darker shapes with sharp cowled heads, and thin, thin arms stretched high along the walls. Down and down – falling, jumping, tearing through the clinging cobwebs. Round and round – and on the walls the hooded figures rose and fell, keeping pace on