Steven Dunne - Deity

As the figure turned and shuffled back to the light, Poole caught a glimpse of the man’s hands and face. They were dark green. He wore green knitted gloves on his hands and what appeared to be thick make-up on his face and neck.

Poole hesitated. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ The scratch of a rodent’s talons on the concrete floor induced a nervous glance behind him and he hastily skipped after his saviour.

‘Let me out of here,’ he demanded. He looked around for a weapon but saw nothing suitable. He considered rushing him, but his bizarrely dressed captor looked tall and powerful. Poole hoped there’d be a better opportunity.

Through two more large white-tiled rooms they travelled, the stranger not looking back once. At the entrance to a brightly lit third room, Poole could hear the whine of a generator. His green guide turned and ushered him into a large dome-like space at the centre of which was a sunken whitetiled dry pool, surrounded by a wooden rail. Too small for swimming, Poole guessed it was some kind of treatment pool. High windows at the top of the dome allowed Poole’s first glimpse of natural light — the sun was shining.

In the middle of the dry pool lay a large empty sarcophagus. It looked extremely sturdy. At the base stood a large jar with a heavy stoneware lid, much like the one Poole had kicked over in the darkness a few rooms away. It was empty. To one side stood a hefty wooden table. Next to it was a large copper tank with two tubes attached. With a sinking heart, Poole realised it was for draining and storing the blood from a corpse. Next to the large table was a smaller table on which sat a loaf of bread and two wine glasses. There was also a variety of surgical instruments, most of which he recognised. He picked up a bone cutter and brandished it.

‘Ra smiles on us, Anubis,’ said Osiris.

‘Let me out of here,’ snarled Poole.

His captor stood, arms folded, before him — in one hand the crook and in the other some kind of whip or flail. His eyes were closed as though in prayer and when he opened them, the bloodshot whites of his eyes were picked out in stark contrast to the dark make-up covering every inch of his face and neck. Poole fancied he recognised the man in his rearview mirror.

‘Think you’re going to cut me up and dump me in the river, sicko?’ growled Poole, mustering some aggression. Over my dead body , went unsaid. ‘Let me out of here.’

‘Fear not, my subject. I mean you no harm.’ Osiris raised his face to the heavens to intone with great solemnity: ‘Geb, Nut, Father of the Earth and Mother of the Sky, I prepare to join you in the Underworld. Horus, my son, I call on you to continue my work in this world as I. .’ At that moment, the man fell into a violent coughing fit which ended with him covering his mouth with a white-robed sleeve. When he pulled the sleeve away, Poole saw blood there.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ demanded Poole, advancing on the man. ‘You abduct me in the middle of the night and bring me here. How dare you? Let me go.’

The green face returned to the horizontal and the man glared at Poole. ‘I am Osiris, insect, and I dare to bring you to this holy place.’

‘What place? Where are we?’

‘We are at the Ibu, Anubis.’

‘Ibu? Anubis?’

‘The place of purification where I must prepare for my journey. Come, Anubis, eat.’ Given his almost bound legs, the man walked as best he could over to the table bearing the food. Poole readied the bone cutter.

Osiris waved a hand at the loaf and the bottle. ‘Sacred barley for your sustenance. Wine for your thirst.’

Poole screwed up his face in disbelief. ‘You don’t expect me to touch that, do you, you fucking fruitcake? Now let me out.’

‘Unless you join me in a sacred meal, Anubis, you will never look upon Ra, the Sun God, again.’ Poole hesitated, tightlipped, gripping his weapon. ‘Fear not. The food is blessed.’ Still Poole stared until Osiris could be patient no longer and snarled at his guest in the broadest Yorkshire accent: ‘Fucking eat summat or you’ll get my khopesh up your arse.’ He reached under his garments, drew out a large sickle-shaped sword and brandished it above his head. It glinted in the muted sunlight and Poole shrank back. ‘Eat, I command you.’ Osiris regained his composure and smiled beatifically, a better argument occurring to him. ‘Or would you prefer to return to the first chamber and the shelter of Apep’s black cloak?’

Poole slowly approached the table. He picked up the loaf, all the while watching the bizarre figure before him. He tore off a corner of bread without breaking his gaze and chewed half-heartedly. Osiris smiled his approval. After the first wary mouthful Poole realised how hungry he was and tore off some more. Osiris picked up the bottle and made to pour it into two glasses. Poole’s eye was drawn by a colourless crystal substance resembling sugar in the bottom of one of the glasses. He stiffened and raised the bone cutter.

‘No wine for me.’

Osiris smiled and poured wine into the clean glass and placed it next to Poole who didn’t pick up the glass until Osiris showed him the sword again. Poole took a wary sip. Osiris then poured wine into the other glass and stirred the liquid with a hooked brass rod from the array of surgical tools. When the crystals had dissolved, the man raised the glass to make a toast.

‘Anubis, God of Embalming, you bestowed your gifts upon me and now I return them with thanks. Use your skills, Jackalheaded One. .’ He coughed heavily for a few moments then grinned through bloody teeth. ‘And prepare me for immortality.’ He declined to drink and instead laid the large sword on the floor and clambered on to the wooden table. He took off his domed crown and lay on his back then rummaged under a sleeve and exposed Poole’s wristwatch.

‘It is time.’ Propping himself on an elbow, Osiris swirled the dark red liquid around his glass and drained the contents in one gulp. ‘I shall await you on the other side, Anubis.’

He lay back down but sat up almost immediately, his broad Yorkshire accent to the fore again. ‘Oh, and don’t go kicking my guts around t’floor, you clumsy bastard,’ he snapped. ‘I’m already a servant down, thanks to you.’ A second later he was overcome with serenity once more and lay back.

Poole stepped nearer the green-faced man then made a grab for the misshapen sword. ‘You fucking weirdo. What’s going on? How do I get out of here?’ But already the man’s eyes were rolling back in his head and his breathing had begun to grate. The empty glass threatened to break from his greenfingered grip and Poole rescued it and raised it to his nose.

‘Potassium cyanide? Jesus.’

Poole felt for a pulse around the neck but couldn’t find one. He grabbed Osiris by the shoulders and shook him violently. ‘How do I get out of here?’ he screamed. His voice was flung around the tiled walls. ‘Tell me.’ A moment later, he lowered the man’s shoulders on to the table. He was dead.

Len ran back through the other chambers, looking all the while for doors or windows. The only doors led to other rooms and the only windows were too high and filled in with bricks, or boarded up. Next to the chamber with the rats, Len found another door but although it wasn’t locked he couldn’t budge it. It was blocked on the other side. He banged on it and hacked at it with the sword, screaming for help but heard no answering cry save his own, echoing through the building.

Reluctantly he returned to the dry pool. At least there was light here. He decided to finish the loaf to keep his strength up and began to chew while he considered his options.

A sudden noise spun him round and he trained his eyes on a darkened corridor which led away from the pool chamber. Although it was dark, Poole could just make out the doorways of other rooms opening off the unlit passage. He turned and took a pace towards the blackness. ‘Who’s there?’