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That’s it. The entrance, at least.” Reaching up, Michael tugs at the mass of tree branches smothering what remains of the doorway.

A faint smell of old vegetation wafts toward her as Elin holds up her flashlight, the beam highlighting an intricate spiderweb, tiny water droplets clinging to the filigree. A guttural rumble of thunder sounds out, followed by a gust of wind that makes the branches above thrash wildly from side to side. As the wind subsides, Elin surveys what’s beneath with disappointment: a packed-out infill of rubble and cement.

No mistaking it: the entrance to the room is completely blocked.

“Hard to see now, but there’s the outline of the doorway.” Michael gestures to the left of the infill, the hood of his mac slipping down as he moves. Above him, lightning flares: an explosion of harsh white light. Trees, leaf litter, Michael, bounce out of monochrome into fleeting, brittle color.

As the light fades, Elin scopes out the structure. It looks like a bunker of some description, presumably leading downstairs to the room he’d described. The hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. Despite the infill, a horrible atmosphere pervades the area. The more she sees, the more she can’t stop herself envisioning what might have happened down there.

Elin walks farther, past the entrance. “And you’re sure there’s no other way to access it?”

Michael shakes his head, blinking rainwater out of his eyes. “Unless someone’s tunneled in, I think it’s highly unlikely, and besides, once they got down there, the room would be filled.”

Elin nods. He’s right. It’s clear: the place is blocked up.

“Sorry it’s not more helpful,” Michael says, the last part of his sentence drowned out by the rain. It’s picked up in intensity, drumming hard against the sodden ground. “From what the guy said, the idea was that this place was buried forever, and they pretty much achieved that goal.” He glances around him. “Can’t blame them. Not a nice feeling here, is it?”

“No,” Elin replies, but her discomfort is quickly supplanted by a creeping realization as she picks up on what he just said—new information, subtly different to what he told her on the beach. “What you said about it being buried forever... Was someone explicit about that, then? It wasn’t just a safety instruction to fill in an old building?”

“Yeah.” Michael pulls his mac tighter. The heavy rain is flattening his hair to his skull, revealing a bald patch beneath. “Apparently the owner was insistent. That’s what made me think the room the artist mentioned was underneath all this. He wanted all of it filled, not just the entrance. From what I gathered, he went to the school too.”

Elin looks at him, chilled.

Ronan Delaney.