Spider Light(34)



I am not really past my work, my dear, so be wary of me…I can still grind and I can still crush and mill. Once songs were sung about me and once children’s rhymes were chanted about how I could grind men’s bones to make bread–and women’s bones as well, my dear. I was never particular whether it was a man or a woman who fell into my hands…



Donna looked around, scanning the shadows, but although she could still hear the police moving overhead, nothing stirred at this level. She realized she had been holding her breath, and let it out with annoyance. This was sheer nervous reaction: she was short on sleep and long on worry–it had been four days since her mother and father had disappeared. But no matter how sinister Twygrist might be, she was not going to start having the kind of whimsical imagination that ascribed malevolent personalities to old buildings.

The police had taken the torches and lights with them but there was enough light from the propped-open door to see the outlines of the immense oblong tanks enclosing the two great waterwheels and the complexity of axles, shafts and cogs that linked them. Above the larger wheel was what remained of the culvert where once the water had come rushing in. Donna studied it for a moment. Would the police search inside that? Surely no one could have got up there and become trapped inside the culvert–no one would want to go up there in the first place?

Her nerves were becoming stretched almost to snapping point by Twygrist, and she realized she was glancing over her shoulder every few minutes, as if expecting to see someone watching her from the shadows. Ridiculous. There was nothing—

Or was there? Wasn’t there something here that the police inspector and his searchers had still to find…

And what is that, Donna? What is it you can feel–or you think they will find? Bones, ground up to make bread? Because I have had my victims over the years, you know…You’re really quite afraid, aren’t you, Donna, AREN’T YOU?



Donna turned her back on the crouching mechanism and walked determinedly to the doorway. She sat down. The floor was disgustingly dusty, but she was beyond caring. She leant back against the door frame, looking out at the warm sunshine. The sun was high; it must be about midday. Normally she would be thinking about lunch, but she felt as if she would never be hungry or thirsty again.

Below the mill was the road that led to Quire House and then wound its way on to Amberwood. Cars were speeding along, and a fat little country bus chugged to or from a local school. It was all normal and unremarkable, and it was a reminder that the ordinary world was still going on out there. But for the moment I’m stuck here, thought Donna, and I’ve got to stay here because I’ve got to know if they find anything. I’ve got to stay here in this dark place, with that clock ticking the minutes and the hours and the years away.

The policemen were coming down from the upper level. They nodded to Donna with an air of awkward apology, and the inspector called out that they had not found anything, but they were going to check the lower levels. Best if she stayed up here while they did so, he said.

‘I didn’t know you could get to a lower level,’ said Donna.

‘Neither did I,’ said the inspector shortly. ‘And neither, it seems, did anyone else. But Dawkins has just told me about it.’ He glanced angrily at the unhappy Dawkins.

‘Oh, I see.’


It was entirely understandable that the inspector and most of the men, except the presumably local Dawkins, had not known about the steps leading down to Twygrist’s bowels. A small doorway was tucked behind the lower waterwheel, and unless you had known it was there you would certainly have missed it. It was, in fact, necessary to squeeze round the wooden tank to get to the opening, and the space was so cramped that the larger of the policemen had a struggle to get to it. Donna, watching, thought how Don would have enjoyed seeing that; he loved it when authority figures were made ridiculous. Don…

She waited until the men had gone through the door, and then got up and went quickly and quietly after them. Shallow steps led down from the doorway, curving round as they went. The walls had the smoothness of extreme age so there were no handholds anywhere–it would be treacherously easy to miss your footing and tumble all the way down to the bottom. You might lie down there in the dark for days, badly injured–dead or dying–with no one knowing where you were. Donna shivered, but went all the way down, thankful there was enough light from the searchers’ torches to see her way, trying not to brush against the black stones of the walls which were crusted with the dust and grime of years.

‘There’s a lot of dirt and debris everywhere,’ said the inspector’s voice from deeper in the tunnels. ‘So it’s difficult to be sure about footprints, but I think there are several sets. See them?’ The torchlight moved around. ‘They look fairly recent, but they might just have been made by local kids on a dare, or a version of “chicken”, or something. Dawkins, since you know the place better than the rest of us, you’d better lead the way.’

A dreadful stifling warmth seemed to push downwards, and the drumming of the clock’s mechanism was more noticeable down here. Twy-Grist…Twy-Grist… That was what it was saying. Twygrist meant twice ground, presumably. Or was the clock saying, Two-dead…Two-dead…

Twygrist’s bowels were a series of stone and brick-lined cellars, most of them so narrow they were scarcely more than tunnels. Donna counted the rooms as she went. Three, four, five…Would they search every one? The inspector had said earlier that Twygrist was a labyrinth, and Donna found herself remembering that all labyrinths have a centre, a heart, a dark core…

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