Harrison Dodds Daley

"Take heed and listen carefully for you are about to enter a place not quite of our world. A place that rests in the realm between realms. It is thanks only to the power of the full moon – and Edinburgh Tours in partnership with Spooky Halloween nights and the Edinburgh City Council – that we can enter such a place tonight.

For the first time in history, we will be doing an in-depth and comprehensive tour of Edinburgh’s haunted underbelly. Gangsters, human traffickers and body snatchers were just some of its inhabitants. Their bodies may have died three-hundred years ago, but their spirits live on. They dwell within its stonework, lurk behind its corners and roam its dark halls. They have been waiting for someone like you to trap in their midst.

So stay with your group, keep your tour guide in sight, and, for the love of all things holy, do not wander off. For this is their domain, and all who lose themselves in their labyrinth, lose themselves forever.

Welcome, to the Edinburgh Vaults!" - Introduction to the tour of the Edinburgh Vaults

One

She watched with envy as they sauntered ahead, Max and their friends laughing, bantering, oblivious to the upset their ruckus caused the rest of the group. Unaware that she was falling behind, or of the cold sweat on her brow and the panic in her eyes. A self-centred lot that didn’t notice boring things or anything that couldn’t benefit them, as is the right of people like them. In all honesty, it was what she envied about them.

‘Are you alright?’ Of all the people to notice something was wrong with her, of course it was Robin. He would often ask questions like that: “How are you?”, “Are you holding up?”. If one didn’t know better, she might think he actually cared and wasn’t just trying to get in her pants.

‘Samira,’ he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you alright?’ He was a tremendous actor, she almost fell for it. But what could she say, “No, I’m not okay”?

Five minutes had passed and she still felt the little boy’s hand in hers; the coldness of it burned into her skin. “Mummy?” he had said. An honest mistake that has embarrassed many children the world over. The word had opened an old wound in her chest and set her stomach to roil. A memory, better left alone, rekindled as she watched the boy run and hide behind the large American couple straggling at the back of the group. What kind of people brought children to a horror tour?

“Samira?”

No, if she couldn’t say anything to Max, she certainly wasn’t going to tell this guy. ‘I’m fine.’ she said, pulling away from Robin’s touch and hurrying to catch up to the others.

Max was laughing loudly, as he so often was. One look at his mischievous smile and that perfect set of pearly whites, and her sour mood melted away. She wouldn’t hold his inability to notice when she was upset against him.

‘Sami,’ he called her. He lifted an arm and she took her spot at his side as they continued their descent of Edinburgh High Street. Max brought his mouth close to her ear. ‘What did he say to you?’

‘Same old, same old,’ said Samira, ‘wanted to know if I was okay.’ She scoffed, he copied.

‘Of course,’ he said, then in louder tones, ‘Well, your dawdling sparked a rumour, these guys think you’re scared.’

‘Scared?’ she sniffed with as much derision as she could muster, ‘I’m not scared.’

‘Oh,’ said Cassandra, ‘you have many ghosts in India?’

‘I’m from Tanzania.’ It was a common assumption that because she was genetically considered Indian she must be from India. Yes, she spoke some passing Hindi, and could whip up a vindaloo that would knock your socks off, but she had never set foot on India, the nation or the subcontinent. And Cassandra knew that. Samira was one hundred percent Tanzanian, though she felt more English with every term.

‘Right, Tanzania,’ she smiled at Max as she spoke, ‘I suppose little, white, Scottish ghosts are nothing compared to those you saw there.’

Samira felt Max’s body tense. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, the real question being: what were you told?

‘Well, you know. What do they call them now? Developing countries. I imagine you must have seen a lot of scary things growing up in one of those. Surely ghosts are nothing compared to the horrors you witness in New Delhi—’

‘Dara es Salaam.’ Samira was struggling to keep her temper behind her teeth.

‘Duress Salem,’ said Cassandra, ‘and—’

‘Enough.’ said Max, and her pert mouth snapped shut. As the heir to one of the wealthiest families in the world, he was well practised in telling people what to do. Cassandra stared in defiance. Also hailing from immense wealth, she was used to getting her way. Unfortunately for her, however, she wasn’t born into the Burton family, so she lost that staring contest.

Samira smiled. It was always nice to see Cassandra put in her place.

‘You man want to see horrors,’ said Theo, the athletic one in the group, ‘try going to Jamaica.’

‘Ya mon,’ Max said, in an abysmal attempt at a Jamaican accent, ‘real rasta man from Kingston scared of no ting.’

‘Nottin!’ Theo joined in, amping up the patois in what was usually a very posh English accent. And off they went, laughs, shouts and fake accents marching ahead, disturbing the good people on the streets of Edinburgh.

‘Ugh,’ Cassandra rolled her eyes, ‘boys.’ Before she realised who she was talking to, and stormed ahead.

Alone again, surrounded by people, her boyfriend enjoying the sun with their friends and having fun without her, Samira wondered what Cassandra’s comment about ghosts in Tanzania meant, worried about what Max might have told her. She didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, she was a scientist, a realist and, most importantly, smart, but there was something back in her hometown. Stories, a rumour. As a child, they were hard to ignore, especially when they were so close to home, and her young mind had conjured up something.

No, Max wouldn’t betray her trust like that, not with something she specifically told him to keep secret. It was just her overthinking things, as usual.

She fought to keep her gaze from drifting back to the American family, the woman was telling the boy to stop pulling on her dress, and caught glimpses of curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. No, she didn’t believe in ghosts, yet they were everywhere she looked.

She should have been looking where she was going, instead, she stumbled when she walked into someone. Robin caught her before she fell and his hand lingered on her waist for far too long. She pushed it off.

‘We’re here.’ he said.

Their massive group had formed a crowd around their tour guides. A short man with Scottish brown hair and thick spectacles that magnified his eyes so much that Samira could count the lashes from the back of the group.

‘Okay, everybody gather round, gather round,’ his accent wasn’t so strong that she couldn’t understand but there was no denying where he was from, ‘take heed and listen carefully…’

Samira didn’t hear anything he said after that. She was scanning the crowd for Max and found him atop of flight of stairs, leaning against a door that couldn’t lead anywhere. Theo and Cassandra were sitting on the steps, laughing at the tour guide's overly theatrical speech, and Max was ignoring them and scowling at her so sharply she looked away. What did she do to upset him this time?

Meanwhile, the pair of talking glasses had been replaced by a woman who had plucked her outfit straight out of the emo starter kit: purple hair matched with an all-black outfit, studded black boots and the Wednesday Adams makeup palette.

‘Alright, everybody,’ she said, 'at the start you were each given a number between one and seven. If you have forgotten your number, it is conveniently written on your wristband.’ She laughed. ‘You may also have noticed the seven beautiful guides standing behind me. If we could all make our way to the guide with your corresponding number and we will get this show on the road.’

Excited chatter, “Excuse me’s” and awkward squeeze bys galore as people made their way to their allotted guides in a back alley street too small for a group so big.

She arrived alongside Robin to the guide holding the laminated sheet of paper with the number one printed on it. Max and the other two were already there, along with the emo girl. Max was still scowling and she ended up awkwardly standing a couple of feet apart from the group.

Moments passed, the bustling dwindled and order was restored in the form of seven groups of eight tourists, each led by their own guide. Only problem was that their group had five. Samira’s stomach dropped when she saw the American couple heading their way. To her relief, their child wasn’t in sight; they must have dropped him off somewhere, perhaps a grandparent was with them. The couple was bickering.

‘Why would I pull at your clothes like that?’ said the man.

‘Because you’re a child.’ was the reply.

‘Alright, can I have your attention please,’ said their tour guide, it was the same man that had given the long-winded introduction that Samira hadn’t listened to, now that we’re all here—’

‘Now that we’re all here,’ the emo girl interrupted, ‘we can begin.’

‘Yes, thank you—’

‘As the number one group, we have the number one tour guide (in more than just title) and will be going through entrance, you guessed, number one.’ She gestured to the little door that Max was leaning on earlier.

‘Yes, thank you, Jessica,’ the tour guide said, pointedly. Scott was his name, according to his name badge. ‘Now remember it’s called the city’s underbelly for a reason. It’s going to be dark, damp and smelly. So stay close, watch your step and take shallow breaths.’ Jessica squealed a laugh.

‘Finally,’ Scott continued, ‘remember the vaults are haunted. We’ve had people see things, reports of ghostly apparitions touching them and pulling their clothes,’ he winked at the American couple, ‘some were even possessed. Whether or not you believe it is up to you, but otherwise healthy people have become sick after entering the vaults, some fainted, these are facts, I was the guide to some of them. So if you feel sick or funny or weird, or the cold hand of the dead upon your back, or would simply like to take a break, please do not hesitate to say and you will be guided to the nearest exit.

‘Are there any questions? No? Excellent. Let’s head in and—’

‘And don’t forget to enjoy yourselves,’ said Jessica, ‘ooh, I am so excited. You know, it is rumoured infamous serial killers Bur—’

‘Okay,’ Scott shouted over her, ‘everyone follow me.’

Max ignored Samira’s attempt to hold his hand and moved ahead with the boys, the Americans were still bickering, which left her with…

‘Looks like the girls are sticking together.’ A pale arm slung over Samira’s shoulder and Jessica was smiling up at her. The event organiser’s jovial personality clashed comically with her attire. Cassandra’s expression as she peeled the woman’s arm off her shoulder, however, would have matched the dark outfit perfectly.

‘Well, come on, ladies,’ she said, unperturbed, ‘let’s not let the men outdo us.’

The steps were steep, and the door creaked as if designed to do so. Even Scott and Jessica had to duck as they walked in, and Cassandra nearly folded in half to get inside.

Thick, stale air hit her like a wave. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the dark. he didn’t see the man in the corner until she moved to steady herself against the wall and felt a clothed shirt where stone should be.

She startled and saw him grinning down at her. A small squeal escaped her mouth as her back hit the opposite wall. The man’s eyes blazed like fire beneath the rim of his hat; she couldn’t look away.

‘Come on Sami,’ someone shouted down the corridor, ‘stop messing around.’ The Man’s gaze released her, and she caught up with the others. Sparse lighting and brown skin hid the flush in her cheeks as they all stared at her. She heard Max laughing to himself but didn’t raise her eyes to see it.

‘You alright there lassie?’ asked Jessica.

‘Yeah, that man just surprised me, is all.’

‘What man?’

Two

‘You didn’t see a man.’ said the American man

‘Yes, I did.’ The woman replied. They two bickered like they were born to it, and their arguing had put the tour on an early pause. Samira could feel Max and the others blaming her for it.

‘If there was a man there, then why didn’t I see him?’ said the man.

‘I don’t know, should have gone to Specsavers?’ she said the last in a bad, Dickensian cockney accent that shocked the retort out of her husband. Their laugh, deep from the belly, echoed through the halls.

Scott cleared his throat with just enough volume to carry over the laughter and regain their attention. ‘May we continue?’ he said.

They did, and to his credit, Scott was a real pro. He dished the spiel with the ease of one who had done so a thousand times, and the passion of one doing so for the first time:

Built in the late eighteenth century, South Side Bridge connected Edinburgh High Street to the university. The vaults underneath were once storage areas for the shops overhead, or taverns and workshops for those who couldn’t afford the extortionate rent on top. But, due to inadequate budget and rushed construction, the vaults succumbed to leaks and floods. Merchants and tradesmen were forced out and the other, less savoury, people took their place.

‘It was probably nothing.’ whispered Jessica.

‘Sorry?’ said Samira.

‘The man or whatever you saw back there. Most likely just a trick of the light, or our eyes struggling to adjust to the dark. You know? The mind trying to make sense of unclear shapes. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Right, okay.’

‘Out of interest, this man you saw, was he wearing a hat—’

‘ Sorry, I’m actually trying to listen.’ She wasn’t. She was watching Max, trying to figure out what she had done to annoy him.

He was walking at the front with Theo and Robin, their usual antics and boyish energy muted. Max’s arms were crossed, Robin's hands fidgeted in and out of his pockets and Theo looked rather awkward in between them. She figured that Max must have seen Robin all over her and said something to him; he can be quite protective of her at times. Perhaps now they will finally see less of them. Robin’s dad might be the closest confidant to Max’s dad, but that didn’t mean he had to come on their trips with them. It was inappropriate, especially after what Robin had done.

Scott led them through the halls beneath dim yellow lights, speaking on points of interest as they went: an abandoned brewery here, an illegal gambling den there. They might as well watch the moss grow or listen to Cassandra talk about shopping or whatever it is Cassandra is interested in.

She realised Cassandra was no longer beside her, she was upfront with her arm hooked around Max’s, her lips pressing whispered words into his ear. And he was smiling.

Another inappropriate friendship, but Max would never abandon his childhood friend. The Burtons and the Walcotts had been tied together for generations of business and marriage arrangements, and Max was loyal to a fault.

‘And here is where things get interesting.’ said Scott.