James Becker - The Nosferatu Scroll

Her bound wrists were a greater impediment than she’d expected, and in seconds she lost her footing on the uneven ground and tumbled sideways. Before she could even try to get to her feet again, the men reached her. Two of them grabbed her by the arms and pulled her upright.

‘I told you what would happen,’ said the man with the taser, his face dark with anger.

‘Be careful,’ one of the others warned. ‘She needs to be unharmed.’

The man adjusted something on the taser, then took a step forward. ‘Hold her still,’ he instructed, menace in every syllable.

Marietta shrank back. ‘No, please, no, don’t,’ she whispered.

The man looked into her eyes and smiled slightly as he rested the twin prongs on the thin material of her blouse.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Marietta had never felt such agony. It seemed as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire, or bathed in acid. She lurched backwards, and would have fallen but for the restraining hands of the other two men.

The man in front of her kept the trigger of the taser pressed for what felt like minutes, such was the pain surging through her, though in reality the current could only have flowed for a matter of one or two seconds, possibly even less than that. Finally, mercifully, the agony stopped, the men released her arms, and Marietta slumped to the ground.

They gave her a couple of minutes to recover her senses, then jerked her back on to her feet and marched her towards the rear of the house. This time they were taking no chances. One man walked on either side of Marietta, gripping her upper arm. There was no way she could free herself from their grasp even if she had had the energy or the strength to do so. In any case, the last charge from the taser had left her nerves jangling and screaming, and she knew that if her arms were released, she would probably not even be able to walk unaided. Running was out of the question.

The path ran beside the house, then curved around in a circle towards the back door of the building. Marietta assumed this was their destination, but instead she was led towards another, smaller structure hidden behind the house. It had also been solidly constructed of grey stone, and just one glance was enough to tell her that it had once been a small church or chapel. Most of the steeply pitched roof was missing, but all four walls were still standing, and looked to be in a reasonable state of repair. Strangely, even the old wooden church door was still in place, and both the windows in the end wall contained stained-glass panels.

One of the men lifted the latch on the door and swung it open, the well-oiled old hinges making no sound. Marietta was pushed through the doorway into the open space beyond. Above her head, about half of the original supporting timbers for the roof were still in place, a dimly visible skeleton, showing black against the evening sky.

The men led her down what was once the church’s central aisle, and across the space where the altar would have stood; a few broken slabs of stone were all that remained of the original structure. She was marched across to the far side of the building and shoved against the wall. The man behind her stepped over to one side, and Marietta briefly lost sight of him as the other two stood beside her, blocking her view. Then she heard a faint rumbling sound, and a section of the wall a few feet away from her swung open like a door. The third man reappeared, reached into the black opening in front of her, and clicked a switch. Naked bulbs sprang into life, illuminating a narrow spiral staircase that curved down to the right.

Marietta stopped dead. She’d always loathed cellars and any other sort of underground space. It wasn’t just simple claustrophobia, though this was a part of it. She’d always thought that a cellar smelt like a tomb.

‘Keep going,’ one of the men ordered.

‘No,’ Marietta said.

She felt the twin prongs of the taser pressing into her back, and knew she would do anything to avoid suffering that pain again. Fighting back tears of terror and frustration in equal measure, she stumbled forward, and started down the stone staircase, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls.

It wasn’t a long staircase — for obvious reasons, deep cellars were almost unknown in Venice and on its islands — and after about twenty steps the staircase ended at a flagstone floor. Again, one of the men clicked a switch and a single bright light came on at one end of the room, enabling Marietta to see her surroundings.

It was a long and wide cellar, possibly extending to exactly the same floor area as the ruined church building that stood above it. By the foot of the staircase was a cleared circular area, in the centre of which was a large oblong stone table, looking something like an altar. Marietta guessed that it was positioned directly below the broken altar in the church above. When she looked at it again, she realized that it wasn’t a perfect oblong, because it had a small square extension in the middle of one of the two shorter sides, and at each corner a hole had been drilled through the stone. Behind that table was another table, also made of stone but much smaller.

Along one side of the cellar were four short stone walls which extended from the floor up to the low ceiling and created a line of small, open-fronted rooms that had possibly been used as storerooms originally. The three men led Marietta into the first of these and hustled her across to the back wall. There she saw a rough wooden bed covered by a thin mattress and, bolted firmly to the wall above it, a new steel ring. A single metal handcuff dangled from the ring on the end of a metal chain.

The men pushed Marietta on to the bed. One of them reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pair of pliers, which he used to sever the plastic ties holding her wrists together. The moment he did so, another man snapped the handcuff around her left wrist, chaining her to the wall. It didn’t matter that there was no door to her room. She would not be leaving.

‘Please, no,’ Marietta shouted after the men as they walked away. ‘Don’t just leave me here. Please.’

Moments later the light clicked off, and she was left in the Stygian blackness and utter silence of the cellar.

For several minutes Marietta just sat motionless on the hard mattress, eyes wide, willing them to adapt to the dark, to allow her to see something, anything. She sought a glow, a chink of light — something, however small, to provide her with a frame of reference. But there was nothing. Not even the faintest scintilla of illumination penetrated the blackness.

She gave way, and for a few minutes sobbed out of fear and frustration, but then she started to pull herself together. She tried to slide the handcuff off her wrist, but it was clamped too tightly. She tugged on the chain attached to the ring in the wall, but it was new and strong, and the ring was completely immovable.

When she finally accepted that there was no way she could get free, she set about exploring her immediate surroundings. Before the light had been extinguished, she’d seen the wooden bed, but hadn’t noticed anything else. Now, she walked to the limit of the chain, and then, with her right arm stretched out in front of her, she moved first left and then right, feeling her way through the blackness. All she found was empty space, and the cold and damp stone walls of her underground prison.

As she walked back to the wooden bed, her shoe hit something beneath it, and she bent down, her fingers probing. Moments later, she realized it was a metal bucket shoved under the bed, the purpose of which was fairly obvious. There was even a half-used roll of toilet paper on the floor beside it.

For a few minutes, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of what had happened to her, and listening intently, alert for the slightest sound.