فصل 05

A Night in Terror Tower - Chapter 5

“Ohhhh.” A horrified moan escaped Eddie’s throat as he gaped at the cuff around my wrist. His mouth dropped open, and his chin started to quiver.

“Help me!” I wailed, thrashing my arm frantically, tugging at the chain. “Get me out of this!” Eddie turned as white as a ghost.

I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. I started to laugh. And I slid the handcuff off my wrist.

“Gotcha back!” I jeered. “That’s for stealing my camera. Now we’re even!”

“I—I—I—” Eddie sputtered. His dark eyes glowered at me angrily. “I really thought you were hurt,” he muttered. “Don’t do that again, Sue. I mean it.” I stuck my tongue out at him. I know it wasn’t very mature. My brother doesn’t always bring out the best in me.

“Follow me, please!” Mr. Starkes’ voice echoed off the stone walls. Eddie and I moved closer as our tour group huddled around Mr. Starkes.

“We’re going to climb the stairs to the north tower now,” the tour guide announced. “As you will see, the stairs are quite narrow and steep. So we will have to go single file. Please watch your step.” Mr. Starkes ducked his bald head as he led the way through a low, narrow doorway. Eddie and I were at the end of the line.

The stone stairs twisted up the Tower like a corkscrew. There was no handrailing. And the stairs were so steep and so twisty, I had to hold on to the wall to keep my balance as I climbed.

The air grew warmer as we made our way higher. So many feet had climbed these ancient stones, the stairs were worn smooth, the edges round.

I tried to imagine prisoners being marched up these stairs to the Tower. Their legs must have trembled with fear.

Up ahead, Eddie made his way slowly, peering up at the soot-covered stone walls. “It’s too dark,” he complained, turning back to me. “Hurry up, Sue. Don’t get too far behind.” My coat brushed against the stone wall as I climbed. I’m pretty skinny, but the stairway was so narrow, I kept bumping the sides.

After climbing for what seemed like hours, we stopped on a landing. Straight ahead of us was a small dark cell behind metal bars.

“This is a cell in which political prisoners were held,” Mr. Starkes told us. “Enemies of the king were brought here. You can see it was not the most comfortable place in the world.” Moving closer, I saw that the cell contained only a small stone bench and a wooden writing table.

“What happened to these prisoners?” a white-haired woman asked Mr. Starkes. “Did they stay in this cell for years and years?” “No,” Mr. Starkes replied, rubbing his chin. “Most of them were beheaded.”

I felt a chill at the back of my neck. I stepped up to the bars and peered into the small cell.

Real people stood inside this cell, I thought. Real people held on to these bars and stared out. Sat at that little writing table. Paced back and forth in that narrow space. Waiting to meet their fate.

Swallowing hard, I glanced at my brother. I could see that he was just as horrified as I was.

“We have not reached the top of the Tower yet,” Mr. Starkes announced. “Let us continue our climb.” The stone steps became steeper as we made our way up the curving stairway. I trailed my hand along the wall as I followed Eddie up to the top.

And as I climbed, I suddenly had the strangest feeling—that I had been here before. That I had followed the twisting stairs. That I had climbed to the top of this ancient tower before.

Of course, that was impossible.

Eddie and I had never been to England before in our lives.

The feeling stayed with me as our tour group crowded into the tiny chamber at the top. Had I seen this tower in a movie? Had I seen pictures of it in a magazine?

Why did it look so familiar to me?

I shook my head hard, as if trying to shake away the strange, troubling thoughts. Then I stepped up beside Eddie and gazed around the tiny room.

A small round window high above our heads allowed a wash of gloomy gray light to filter down over us. The rounded walls were bare, lined with cracks and dark stains. The ceiling was low, so low that Mr. Starkes and some of the other adults had to duck their heads.

“Perhaps you can feel the sadness in this room,” Mr. Starkes said softly.

We all huddled closer to hear him better. Eddie stared up at the window, his expression solemn.

“This is the tower room where a young prince and princess were brought,” Mr. Starkes continued, speaking solemnly. “It was the early fifteenth century. The prince and princess—Edward and Susannah of York—were locked in this tiny tower cell.” He waved the red pennant in a circle. We all followed it, gazing around the small, cold room. “Imagine. Two children. Grabbed away from their home. Locked away in the drab chill of this cell in the top of a tower.” Mr. Starkes’ voice remained just above a whisper.

I suddenly felt cold. I zipped my coat back up. Eddie had his hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets. His eyes grew wide with fear as he gazed around the tiny, dark room.

“The prince and princess weren’t up here for long,” Mr. Starkes continued, lowering the pennant to his side. “That night while they slept, the Lord High Executioner and his men crept up the stairs. Their orders were to smother the two children. To keep the prince and princess from ever taking the throne.” Mr. Starkes shut his eyes and bowed his head. The silence in the room seemed to grow heavy.

No one moved. No one spoke.

The only sound was the whisper of wind through the tiny window above our heads.

I shut my eyes, too. I tried to picture a boy and a girl. Frightened and alone. Trying to sleep in this cold, stone room.

The door bursts open. Strange men break in. They don’t say a word. They rush to smother the boy and girl.

Right in this room.

Right where I am standing now, I thought.

I opened my eyes. Eddie was gazing at me, his expression troubled. “This is… really scary,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I agreed. Mr. Starkes started to tell us more.

But the camera fell out of my hand. It clattered noisily on the stone floor. I bent to pick it up. “Oh, look, Eddie—the lens broke!” I cried.

“Ssshhh! I missed what Mr. Starkes said about the prince and princess!” Eddie protested.

“But my camera—!” I shook it. I don’t know why. It’s not like shaking it would help fix the lens.

“What did he say? Did you hear?” Eddie demanded.

I shook my head. “Sorry. I missed it.”

We walked over to a low cot against the wall. A three-legged wooden stool stood beside it. The only furniture in the chamber.

Did the prince and princess sit here? I wondered.

Did they stand on the bed and try to see out the window?

What did they talk about? Did they wonder what was going to happen to them? Did they talk about the fun things they would do when they were freed? When they returned home?

It was all so sad, so horribly sad.

I stepped up to the cot and rested my hand on it. It felt hard.

Black markings on the wall caught my eye. Writing?

Had the prince or the princess left a message on the wall?

I leaned over the cot and squinted at the markings.

No. No message. Just cracks in the stone.

“Sue—come on,” Eddie urged. He tugged my arm.

“Okay, okay,” I replied impatiently. I ran my hand over the cot again. It felt so lumpy and hard, so uncomfortable.

I gazed up at the window. The gray light had darkened to black. Dark as night out there.

The stone walls suddenly seemed to close in on me. I felt as if I were in a dark closet, a cold, frightening closet. I imagined the walls squeezing in, choking me, smothering me.

Is that how the prince and princess felt?

Was I feeling the same fear they had known over five hundred years ago?

With a heavy sigh, I let go of the cot and turned to Eddie. “Let’s get out of here,” I said in a trembling voice. “This room is just too frightening, too sad.” We turned away from the cot, took a few steps toward the stairs—and stopped.

“Hey—!” We both cried out in surprise.

Mr. Starkes and the tour group had disappeared.