Prologue

My ears were ringing with a head-splitting, incessant shrill.

‘Rusanda?...’

The voice was muffled. Something tugged at my hands, and pulled them away.

‘Rusanda!’

I blinked in confusion, and a blurred face swam into sight. A hand gripped my shoulder and shook me gently.

‘Hey! Ru, come on. Come back to me! It’s over now.’

Yes, it was. It was over.

I slowly realised that I had been rocking back and forth, sitting on the edge of the hole with my legs dangling above the darkness. Fear shot down my spine, and I scrambled backwards.

Axel’s arms closed around me.

‘It is over now’, his soothing voice repeated. I collapsed against him, sobbing into his shirt. My nostrils were filled with the smell of earth.

‘Shhh… shhh…’

Was he crying too? Or was I shaking too much, and those were my own tears? I pressed against him like a terrified animal, desperate for comfort. Axel held me tight, and slowly, very slowly, I felt his warmth flow into my own body. I hugged him back, and leaned my forehead against his. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t think. Just breathe. Calm down. Breathe. Wait it out.

After a while, my heartbeat wound down. With a weary sigh, I looked up at him.

‘They're…’

My throat tightened again.

‘… I don't know, Ru.’

His skin was ice under my fingers. We leaned against each other in silence.

We stumbled through the desert cemetery in the grey light of the dawn. The first subway of the day took us home; I fell asleep on his shoulder, lulled by the rhythmic jostling. Images flashed in my dreams. Shadows, spreading and writhing. Lights flickering. The stone ceiling cracking; dust clouding the tunnel.

A cry of pain.

I woke up with a start, and Axel pulled me to him, patting my hair.

‘It’s over, Ru…’

He was staring into the void, his eyes reddened.

Axel had left as soon as we arrived at my flat. I dropped the dirty backpack, threw my muddy clothes on the floor, and hid in the shower. I let the water wash and comfort me for a long while. When I finally stopped shaking, when some warmth insinuated at last into my frozen limbs, I sat down with a blanket, a hot coffee, and the laptop, trying to make sense of last night. Axel has already gone back down there.

My name is Rusanda, and my friends have disappeared.

I think it is my fault.

It started yesterday.

Chapter 1 – Saint Andrew’s Night

The doorbell made me jump, and the overflowing ibrik in my hand spilled thick coffee all over the kitchen counter. I cursed under my breath and lunged for the sponge, trailing my shirt through the puddle. David burst into laughter.

‘Let me handle this, Ru’, he said, taking the ibrik from my hands. My cheeks flushed at his touch, and I looked away to hide it. ‘Don’t keep Axel waiting. Pretty sure he’s sniffing your coffee from behind the door.’

‘He can sniff it on me too’, I muttered, frowning at my stained clothes.

‘Don’t worry, no need to change. We’re all aware of your addiction by now.’

He wasn’t wrong, but I would have rather drank it than have it all over me. With a sigh, I headed to the door. Axel, in his usual Saturday attire – military vest over a hoodie, loose trousers, and Rangers – was leaning against the door frame as if drawn in by the smell of the fresh coffee.

‘I suppose David is already here’, he whispered in my ear as he bent towards me for the customary peck on the cheek. I blushed even more: it was obvious even for Axel. I changed the topic quickly:

‘You look all tidy. Did the protest go that well?’

‘There wasn’t one today’, he said, plopping down on the couch, tossing his beanie aside and tousling his blonde hair.

‘Oh? I thought the Yellow Vests did that every Saturday’, David called over from the kitchenette, still busy wiping the counter.

‘Well, the police prefecture did not authorise it this time. There will be other occasions, we are not going to give up. I heard that the RATP and SNCF unions are planning for a major strike soon, too.’

‘That’ll be fun’, I grumbled, remembering the chaos in the subway the last time there was a strike.

‘You know what I think about that’, Axel said quietly, and I knew better than to engage in another debate.

‘We’ll agree to disagree once more’, I sighed. ‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

David put the ibrik down on the coffee table and looked around. ‘Where are the cups again?’

‘On the shelf next to the mythology books, behind the pasta.’ I replied a little absently.

‘Obviously, how didn’t I think of it’, he teased. ‘I have no idea how you manage to keep track of your stuff.’

‘There is order in chaos’, I shrugged. ‘It’s my chaos.’

He laughed, and lingered in front of the bookshelf, cups in hand.

‘Obiceiuri funerare de protectie’, he read a random spine, painstakingly and in an outrageous accent.

‘Funerary customs of protection’, I translated. ‘And you slaughtered every word of it.’

David rolled his eyes jokingly. ‘Romanian doesn’t come easy to others, you know.’

‘Is there any particular reason for you to read that book?’, Axel asked me, pouring the coffee into the cups. The intoxicating aroma filled my tiny apartment, and David, now sprawled on the rescued bean-bag, sniffed the air and grinned.

‘Besides dropping some more random bits of folklore in our lap when we aren’t looking, you mean?’, he asked.

‘Actually’, I interrupted, ready to defend my love for mythology, ‘I have two reasons. One, knowledge in itself. One never knows too much. And second, tonight is Saint Andrew’s night.’

‘And that’s… bad? Good? Important?’

‘Not good, actually. I suppose you’re both aware of Samhain and its equivalents, like Halloween?’ They nodded, so I continued: ‘Like many other countries, my ancestors celebrated this kind of moment too – the night when the seasons change, when winter takes over, and with it, the darkness. On Saint Andrew’s Night, the borders between our world and the one beyond weaken, the doors open, and the horrifying side of folklore comes a-knocking.’

‘Does anyone still believe in such things? Do you?’, Axel asked, leaning towards me, his icy-blue eyes lit with interest.

‘The tradition still lives in some parts of the country – people gather together for a wake, and protect the entries with garlic, which is supposed to keep the evil away. But what’s left nowadays, mostly, are the charms to find love, or discover who one’s meant to marry. As for myself…’, I shrugged, ‘I mostly do it for the tradition’s sake. Like the Christmas tree and the Easter eggs.’

‘But what’s Saint Andrew got to do with it? Can’t say I know much about anything Christian’, David said apologetically.

‘That’s just the Church slapping other meanings on pagan holidays, like they do. Somehow, Saint Andrew ended up being patron of the wolves, who obey him, and also a protector against the evil spirits.’

‘Hmmm.’ David took a sip, pondering for a while, then looked intently at me over his cup. ‘Love charms, huh.’

Fire rose in my cheeks, and my heartbeat went wild.

When we'd met in college, his lazy smile and dark eyes, half hidden by long lashes, had wiped me off my feet like a tidal wave. Ever since, we'd been caught in a dance of side glances, ambiguous smiles, and half spoken invitations that said nothing clear, and left everything to interpretation. Under his burning gaze, I wondered if the charms of my pagan ancestors could bring us to finally cross the line.

Axel’s gaze went from David to me, and, after an awkward silence, he tried to change the subject and clear the palpable tension in the air.

‘How about tasseomancy? I think you once said your grandmother taught you to read the grounds.’

I rubbed the back of my neck, somehow uneasy.

‘I, uh… I never managed to see anything more than mud, to be honest. But I thought you didn’t care much about anything supernatural’, I added, raising an eyebrow.

‘I can’t say I do, no. Or rather, to be more precise, it’s beyond pure reason and logic, and I can’t believe in something that cannot be analyzed. However’, he smiled warmly at me, ‘I’m interested in everything my friends care about. Even if it’s, as you said, simply for the sake of knowledge.’

I smiled back. ‘I appreciate that.’

‘I’m thinking…’, David interrupted. ‘If it’s a magical night for divination and all, what if it’s the right moment to try reading the grounds? What if it works this time?’

‘I can’t say the charms and whatnots worked the other times I’ve tried to see who’s meant for me. Why would it work now?’

‘I think you should try again’, he insisted, his smile like a riddle. ‘And I think I know the best place to set the scene for it.’

‘No. No, you don’t’, Axel cut short, his voice firm, and frowned at David.

‘What? Why not?’

‘What are you two talking about? I’m confused here.’

‘Nothing’, said Axel, waving the matter away with a sweeping gesture.

‘But we can…’

‘I said no.’

‘If you’d just let me finish my sentence!’, David said, a rough edge to his tone, his dark eyes narrowing with annoyance.

Axel shrugged and laid back on the couch, crossing his arms, but I could tell by the set of his jaw that he was tense. ‘The floor is yours.’

‘I’m just saying… we could go to the Catacombs. The official Ossuary’, he added quickly, seeing Axel’s mouth thinning dangerously. ‘A good place for a night like this, don’t you think?’

‘Uh huh’, he muttered, relaxing somewhat. ‘Except that it’s already late and, most likely, we won’t make it there in time for the last entry. And there will be no way out once it closes for the night.’

‘What do you think, Ru?’, David grinned at me lopsidedly, invitingly. ‘It’d be quite the thrill, wouldn’t it?’

I hesitated. It would be, indeed, and that was precisely the problem.

‘Well, uh… I can’t say I’m a big fan of thrills’, I admitted, trying to laugh it off, while the image of rows and rows of bones and skulls grinning at me from the darkness unfurled vividly in my mind. I shivered. On the other hand, I mused, David would be there… The idea of being with him in the shelter of the shadows made me giddy, but no matter what I imagined, the bare teeth and poking femurs imposed themselves over it.

‘I, for one, am not thrilled by the perspective of being found there hiding’, Axel said. ‘If the visitors count is not right at the exit, they’ll come looking for us, and the Ossuary has become too small to hold many hiding places. Besides, I would rather not add to my record. Not for something so trivial as a belated Halloween party.’

‘Wait, wait. You have a record?’, I exclaimed incredulously. ‘What for?’

He stared at me for a few long moments. ‘Some things.’

Apparently I had stepped into another of the secret gardens he jealously kept out of sight of other people, and I felt uneasy for having intruded.

‘But why can’t we just go to…’ David started.

Axel tried to silence him with a dark look, but David held his gaze stubbornly, not backing down.

‘I’m sure we can trust Ru. Aren’t you?’

‘What, in hell’s name, are you talking about?’, I cut in. ‘I feel left aside here. And what’s with the trust issue?’

Axel stood up and went to the window, staring up at the clouds, his arms crossed.

‘My trust in you is not the issue’, he finally said, after a long silence. ‘It’s… my privacy. You know how important it is to me.’

‘Of course I know, we used to share a flat, remember?’

‘That we did.’ He turned just enough so I could see him smile at the memory of those few months.

‘Look, Ru’, he added, coming back to the couch and taking my hands. ‘There is a place, somewhere I’ve been going for several years now. I care very much about it, and it has become my second home. I’d even say my first home – more than our apartment.’

‘I can confirm that’, David laughed.

‘It took me a long while to tell even David about it. He had to pester me for months about my whereabouts when I wasn’t coming home for days. I don’t like sharing this place with other people, even though I’m not the only one to be there regularly’, he concluded, apologetically.

‘There’s a lot I don’t know about you, apparently. First, the record, and now, this… mysterious hideout.’

‘That is why I think David is right. It is time to share it with you, too. After all, you two are my closest friends.’

I nodded at him to go on.

Axel stood up and started pacing. ‘The Catacombs, or rather, the Ossuary that everyone can visit, is only a small part of a much larger network’, he began. ‘Paris was built with stone dug out right from underneath it. Not at first, of course – but as it spread, it engulfed the neighbouring villages, and kept growing above the abyss. Everything you see’, he gestured towards the view outside, ‘used to mirror a void underground. As above, so below, like the alchemists said.’

‘Wait –’, I interrupted, joining him by the window, which overlooked the imposing Val-de-Grâce, its stone walls golden under the sunset light. ‘You mean, there was a hole that size right there?’

‘There still is’, Axel replied, amused, ‘although half filled now. Actually, building Val-de-Grâce was one of the things that brought the state of quarries to the attention of the king. The architect spent two years and the entire budget on consolidations only.’

‘Wow’, I whispered, still contemplating the size of the ancient convent, and struggling to imagine what its underground had looked like. ‘You got me curious, do go on.’

‘The history of the quarries is too long to dwell on it right now. What is relevant for the moment is that, when they started to crumble, an Inspection Office was created by Louis XVI, which mapped, consolidated, then backfilled most of them. However, there are still hundreds of kilometers of galleries spreading under the Left Bank, which are now commonly called the catacombs.’

He paused, gazing out the window, lost in thought or in memories. I let him ponder, and went back to the couch to pour the last of the coffee.

‘A few years ago, I jumped over a fence to escape pursuit’, Axel started again. ‘The details of who and where are of little importance; but I met a group of people who got me curious. I followed them, and saw them disappear in a hole. I went back a few days later, and discovered the catacombs.’

‘He’s been hooked ever since’, David added, smiling.

‘Indeed, I have. I’ve seen nothing quite like it – and my parents’ deployments have dragged us across half the world. But no place I know is as captivating from so many different angles. History, geology, remnants of ancient Paris, crayon drawings made by quarrymen three hundred years ago, the evolution of the underground across the ages… Not to mention the array of skills and knowledge the catacombs require, should one want to unravel all these layers – or even focus on only one. Unfortunately’, he sighed deeply, ‘the only thing the Quarry Office does today for this ignored heritage are concrete injections, cheap and simple. So much is lost that way: galleries, marks of the German occupation, natural formations after the quarries have been abandoned. And when it’s not the IGC, it’s… the people. Those who know about them, who come frequently underground, and degrade them by their presence.’

‘You’re a cataphile yourself’, David observed, in a quiet voice.

‘I am nothing like them’, Axel growled through clenched teeth. ‘I do everything in my power to protect the quarries. If only others would do, too.’

‘That’s why you didn’t want to tell us about it?’, I asked in an attempt to divert his attention from what looked like a sensitive topic.

‘Too many cataphiles bring tourists down with them, and it’s just as catastrophic as it is for, say, Venice or Barcelona. Except that there aren’t garbage collectors underground, and no authority cares about maintaining the quarries.’

‘I’m here to help now’, David said, then turned to me. ‘He started training me to be a proper cataphile. I admit there’s so much to do, it’s discouraging sometimes. But the beauty of the place… it’s hard to put into words. The feeling that you’re disconnected from everything happening at the surface, the silence and the darkness… There’s nothing like it.’

His eyes lit up as he spoke, and I felt drawn to the place as much as I was drawn to him. My curiosity was stirred, and his words held such intensity that an urge to go, to discover the quarries with them, overcame my reticence. I wouldn’t be alone, anyway; not alone in the darkness. Stretching before and behind us in every direction. Neverending. Quiet between the indifferent walls.

‘Are you okay? You’re pale all of a sudden’, David worried, leaning immediately towards me. Axel crossed the room with a single stride and kneeled on the floor by my side.

‘What’s wrong, Ru?’

I rubbed my temples, pushing away the fear that had been my nightly companion for as long as I could remember. It was deeply rooted now, my first memory being its seed. Had it been something that had really happened, or a nightmare, I couldn’t say any more. Still, as ancient as it was, I could still recall vividly how it had felt when darkness had wrapped its tentacles tight around me. How, every night of my childhood, I would bundle myself up to the nose in the blanket, terrified of the malevolent presences I imagined lurking around my bed. How, even today, I sometimes still woke up with a jolt, shaking and sweaty, certain that something prowled in the room. That fear was still lying in wait, and sprang on me in ill-lit staircases, or on the steps to the basement, paralysing me unannounced.

‘Hey, Ru, talk to us’, Axel urged me. I blinked, emerging from the tide that had submerged me, and shivered.

‘I… no, you’ll laugh. It’s silly.’

‘I would never. And neither would David.’

The latter nodded quietly, moving to the couch for a comforting hug. I nestled in his arms, breathing in the smell of his hair, his closeness gradually pulling my thoughts away from the nightmares.

‘I’m afraid of the dark’, I whispered shamefully, looking down. ‘I feel like a stupid little girl.’

‘But you aren’t’, Axel said soothingly. ‘Being afraid of something does not make you weak. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.’

‘But I am.’

Axel sighed. ‘Maybe you need to face it squarely, then. Come with us to the catacombs. What is the worst that could possibly happen?’

‘Besides freezing on the spot, and forcing you to carry me back to the exit?’, I snapped, the anger and frustration at my weakness getting the better of me.

Axel’s expression made me regret my words as soon as they were spoken. He didn’t reply.

‘I’m sorry I lashed out at you’, I whispered. ‘I’m just… I hate myself for being like this.’

‘Then stop being like this’, he said bluntly, leaning away from me and crossing his arms. He looked hurt.

‘Axel… I’m trying. I’ve been trying. I can’t. It’s stronger than me.’

‘No, it isn’t. If you truly want to change, you have to fight it. Face it.’

‘You’re being too harsh on her’, David interfered. ‘If someone’s afraid of heights, pushing them off a plane with a parachute won’t make the fear go away. They’d probably just have a heart attack.’

‘Over-protecting someone won’t make them stronger, either. Avoiding or running from an issue won’t make it go away.’

Once more, I felt childish, and pulled away from David’s arms, although reluctantly. Maybe it was time for me to grow up, to do something about the bogeyman.

‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s right. I don’t know. I could try. But I know I will end up paralysed at some point, I’m warning you.’

‘I am sure you won’t’, Axel declared. ‘There’s nothing there of which to be afraid. We will be there, too.’

‘Alright then’, I gave in. ‘We’ll go to the catacombs.’

David grinned, pulling me tight against him for a second.

‘There you go, Ru! We’ll do this together, and you’ll be poking around every dark corner by yourself in no time.’

I smiled tightly, not looking at him.

‘Yeah, I’m sure I will’, I muttered, pulling on my sleeves.

‘In that case, David and I can go get our backpacks, while you handle the food and water. How does that sound?’

‘Sure’, I nodded.

‘I think you’d be braver if you let your hair be itself’, David whispered while Axel was putting on his Rangers. I frowned.

‘What’s wrong with my hair?’, I asked, pulling down a brown curl and squinting at it critically.

‘Come on, don’t you get it? Brave? Red hair?’, he sighed, rolling his eyes.

‘Right. Haha’, I muttered, rolling the strand around my finger.

‘Why do you dye it, anyway? The freckles betray you already.’

‘Are you coming, David?’, Axel saved me from answering. I didn’t want to talk about it.

‘Yeah, I’ll be right up!’, he called out. ‘I’d love to see the real you some day’, he added, giving me his usual puzzling smile, then headed to the door.

‘See you in an hour’, Axel nodded at me, and I waved absentmindedly as they left, still pulling on my curl.

▁▁▁

I realise with a start I’ve stopped writing, and that I’m only gazing at the screen with blurred eyes. Axel hasn’t come back yet, and I don’t know when – or if – he does. The sky is getting grey, and I’m shivering. With cold? Exhaustion? Shock? Maybe all of them. I am ready to collapse, but I have to write everything down while it’s fresh. Come back to it when I’m rested, go through the details, see where things have derailed. Maybe it will make more sense in the morning. Maybe not.

For now, I must dive again into the memories, still so fresh, still too painful…

▁▁▁

I was struggling up the stairs, my arms heavy with grocery bags, when my phone rang. I quickened my step, grumbling, and cursing Haussmann for his brilliant idea of placing the servants’ rooms on the last floor. Not only was my apartment minuscule – why would have maids needed living space, anyway? –, but the sixth floor had its own, separate set of stairs, narrow and winding. The elevator was for the richer people on the floors below, and so were the large marble stairs. I focused on cursing the baron’s family in the best Romanian tradition, in order to ignore the burn in my muscles. When I finally unlocked my door, I dropped the bags on the floor, and sat down heavily. Whoever had turned the chambres de bonne into flats joined Haussmann on my list of favourite people.

With a weary sigh, I reached for my phone, and found a missed call and a text from Axel. They were on the way – I should get my own things ready. I rolled over to the other end of the couch, and groped on the floor for my backpack. After emptying it unceremoniously but efficiently by turning it upside down, I stuffed it with sandwiches, water, and the thermos bottle with coffee, thanking myself for having prepared it before going shopping.

“Food, water, and coffee ready. What else?”, I texted, then hoisted myself up and stumbled to the cupboard which, for lack of a better word, I called my bedroom. Unsure what to expect from the catacombs, I chose clothes I wouldn’t mind ruining – some old jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and, after some hesitation, my leather jacket. The all-terrain Dr Martens boots would do, I hoped.

My phone beeped. “Gloves and a lamp, if you have one. Otherwise we have a spare. Meet you downstairs?” I heaved my backpack and, with a last look around the apartment, I left.

Emerging from the narrow, creaking wooden staircase and the dark, damp corridor into the crowded street, I had to shield my eyes from the sudden light. As the sun had become a rare sight on the grey Parisian sky, each ray that pierced through the thick clouds was celebrated. David and Axel were waiting for me. As soon as we reached rue Saint Jacques, we had to elbow through the steady flow of pedestrians, navigating between those who walked and those who were sprawled on the terraces set out on every available strip of pavement. High-spirited students from the nearby Sorbonne University blocked the way here and there, smoking and chatting excitedly, oblivious to those who needed to step down onto the road in order to pass. Everyone was too eager to catch a spot in the sun to pay any attention to the obstacles in their way — be they people, bikes or scooters parked across the pavement. No one seemed to care about the sharp wind that started to rise with the arrival of the evening; on the contrary, the street seemed to glow with a buoyant energy arising from the crowd.

It was with some difficulty that we got to the end of the street and into the larger, airier boulevard du Port-Royal, where I had to stop and catch my breath. Axel laughed, not in the least bothered by the crowd he had crossed like an icebreaker through the first frozen waters of autumn.

‘We shall be there soon enough’, he assured me as we dove through the bystanders and strollers again. The bright sunset hit the glass-clad Tour de Montparnasse and reflected on the white Haussmannian walls, throwing gleaming shards of blood when it hit the windows. Nearly blinded, I kept my eyes half-closed and often bumped into people, until David pulled me close to him, sheltering me with his body. Warmth rose in me, chasing away the chill that had slowly slithered its way into my blood, and further flushed my cheeks already reddened by the wind.

‘I’ve been thinking about our discussion’, Axel said, ‘and I’ve realised, with a little help from David, that I might have been a tad too territorial about the catacombs. Although I am definitely not going to show them to everyone, I invited my sister and a friend of hers for tonight.’

‘Oh. Okay’, I muttered, uneasy at the thought of strangers.

‘I also thought you would feel better, more at ease, in a larger group. I mean, I know you usually wouldn’t, but this time it might activate the prehistoric instinct of huddling together to face danger.’

I pondered on it for a moment, trying to push away the aversion I felt towards socializing, and to think logically.

‘You might be right. Worst case scenario, being with people I don’t know will distract me from being scared of the monsters in the dark’, I said after a while, and they laughed.

Axel led us through the narrow streets along the Montparnasse cemetery, turning left and right several times until we arrived at an underground parking lot. As we stopped, two girls came towards us. One of them, every bit the typical Parisian – from her naturally mussed blonde hair to her ripped jeans stuck in flowery Wellington boots – went straight for Axel’s throat.

‘Took you long enough’, she snarled. ‘I’m freezing.’

Should’ve picked clothes without holes in them, I thought to myself, my dislike for her immediate.

‘Good evening, Lilianne’, Axel smiled, pulling her to his chest with one arm. She struggled briefly, flailing around to no avail, and gave in.

‘And so you meet my sister’, came the explanation, while still keeping her face buried in his coat. ‘Feeling warmer down there now?’ The coat mumbled angrily. Laughing, the second girl tried to help by pulling at Axel’s arm with just as much success until, magnanimously, he let go of his sulking sibling.

‘I’m Michelle’, the girl said, adjusting her bonnet over the thick curls and offering us a wide, warm smile, complete with tooth gap and dimples, which contrasted beautifully against her dark skin. ‘In charge of any medical attention that hopefully no one will need tonight.’

‘I might need some advice on caring for my curls, for starters’, I replied, liking her. ‘I’m quite jealous of your hair.’

She laughed and wrapped her arm around mine. Axel took the lead once more, with Lilianne following blindly, her eyes glued to her phone, and we fell in line behind them. As we went down to the lowest level of the parking lot, I found out she had come from Cameroon to study medicine, visited the catacombs twice, and had heard that David had a black kitten looking for a new home. He winked at me exaggeratedly, and I was just saying I wasn’t sure I’d be a responsible kitty parent, when Axel pushed a service door open and stopped in a bland, grey corridor, by a metal grid set in the floor.

‘This is the entrance, everyone’, he announced, then bent down and lifted it with a grunt.

Lilianne turned on the lamp on her phone and looked down; nothing but darkness as far as light could reach, and rusty metal rungs set into the wall. Instinctively, I took a step back, dizzied.

‘We’ll go down one at a time, and no one else gets on the stairs before the person in front of them has arrived and said “Go”,’ Axel continued. ‘This way, should someone miss a step and fall, they won’t take the others down, too.’

‘That’s a cheery thought’, muttered Lilianne, still typing on her phone.

‘One day, I found three or four guys moaning at the bottom of the steps’, Axel replied, his voice serious. ‘They had all been on the rungs when the first one slipped, and took the others down with him. None of them would’ve been able to walk, let alone get help for the others. I am not joking about this.’ He eyed each of us, slowly, making sure we understood.

‘Good. David, you go first. I’ll stay behind and close the grid.’

David opened his backpack and offered me a headlamp before putting on his own. Watching his light being swallowed by the night under our feet made me queasy.

Michelle zipped her jacket closed and patted me on the back, smiling. ‘It will be alright, you’ll see.’

‘Go!’, came the shout from below. She pulled a pair of rubber fingered gloves on and went down confidently. Lilianne followed, and I was left with Axel.

‘Are you alright?’, he asked, seeming worried.

‘I don’t particularly enjoy being this far from the ground’, I muttered, trying to gauge the depth of the shaft.

‘Would you rather go home?’

‘No’, I replied immediately, my pride piqued. After all, I’d done this before, in a way — all those summers spent at my grandmother’s, climbing up and down any tree I could find, should come in handy. I tightened the straps of my backpack, and hesitantly sought the first rung with my foot, refusing Axel’s hand.

Leaving the safety of the ground brought a wave of panic, and I felt my fingers go numb on the rungs. I clung on to them with all I had, trying not to look at the voracious shadows waiting below me. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths before I managed to unclench my fingers and start climbing down. The shaft seemed to plunge forever, the rungs aligning one after the other... and another, and another. My arms were tense with the fear of the fall, and Axel’s cautionary tale nagged at my vivid imagination. Contradictory feelings pulled at me; survival instincts screamed to hold on tight, while reason argued that fatigue could wear out my muscles, and make me lose grip. I panicked at that thought, and began to tremble on the steps; this, in turn, made me panic even more. An urge to cry seized my chest, but stopping was impossible. Control was slipping away from me as dread rose, slowly engulfing my limbs; detailed visions of myself sprawled at the bottom of the shaft played in front of my eyes, larger than life. ‘I cannot make another move’, I thought with absolute certitude. ‘My fingers will give in, and it will be the end’.

I leaned warily against the ladder, ready to let the urge to cry take over; but suddenly there were arms around me, and I felt David’s familiar scent as he plucked me from the last rungs.

‘Go!’, he called out, then held me without a word until I stopped shaking.

The clang of the metal grid announced that Axel was on his way down, too. The girls had turned on their lamps. Over David’s shoulder, I looked around at the small chamber, its walls of naked limestone bricks, the bench, and the spiral stairs in a corner.

'One of the quarrymen's changing rooms’, came Axel’s voice from behind us as he jumped from the last steps. ‘Ready? Down we go!’

The stairs wound down to a narrow corridor, its walls covered in yellow and ochre stones, held together with concrete. It didn’t look as old as I’d expected, and I voiced my disappointment.

‘These are RATP consolidations for the subway’, Axel explained. ‘They are more recent – around the 1900s. They used millstone instead of limestone, given that the quarrying here had been stopped for over a century. But worry not, the sight will improve when we get farther from this area.’

‘The cemetery is much better’, David reassured me, ‘especially on the second level’.

‘Because there are several levels?’, I exclaimed, stopping. I had walked these streets so many times, unaware of the scale of the void beneath my feet, and the thought made me dizzy in hindsight.

‘Some quarries had two, three, or even four’, he said, ‘but today the lower ones have been filled up. A second level is actually a rare sight. I suppose they didn’t bother here, ‘cause there are no buildings above. And that’s why it’s colder here than in other places’, he smiled, wrapping an arm around me. ‘There’s nothing above to keep the heat.’

Still hanging on to the image of the mirroring abyss, his words brought to mind the immense mass of stone and earth that towered above our heads. My chest clenched as if I was already buried alive and struggling to breathe; the night that stretched neverendingly at arm’s length made our small shelter of light seem even frailer. The mottled tunnel seemed to close down on us, and I had to lean against a wall until its chillness allowed me to regain my composure. Fortunately, everyone was listening to an explanation from Axel, and didn’t see my moment of weakness.

As we squeezed together through the narrow tunnel, a slight draught slithered between us, probing my face with its cold fingers. Silence wrapped tightly around us, muffling our steps, and the clinking from our backpacks started to feel like an intrusion. I realised I had been tiptoeing, hunching instinctively in order to make myself unnoticed. Even the darkness seemed to part reluctantly before our lights, and creep close on our heels.

Axel’s voice pulled me to reality with a start.

‘It is time for a little hazing for the newcomers’, he called from ahead.

We turned right and left into a new, whiter tunnel, seemingly dug directly into the limestone. The air smelled damp and old, a mixture of dust, clay, and something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I stopped to take in the sight, gazing at the cracked ceiling, as if the rocks were giving in under the pressure of the earth above our heads. It was breathtaking – and my body took that literally, as if the crushing weight was suddenly on my chest. I laid a hand on the wall, my head spinning, and tried to get some air into my lungs. The galleries haven’t collapsed in centuries, I tried to tell myself, there is no reason they would do now. The smooth, cold stone under my fingers was reassuringly solid, and finally I looked up, ready to continue. In the distance, Axel’s light reflected on the walls in dancing, bright shards.

‘Ru, come forth, you have the honours’, he called.

‘I don’t like that sparkle in your eyes’, I said, walking up to him, suspicious of what was expecting me. He smiled mischievously, and stepped aside. A stretch of astonishingly limpid water appeared, flooding the tunnel as far as my lamp could reach. Through its glassy stillness, I could see every pebble and boulder at the bottom, coated in an even blanket of white clay.

‘I thought you should be the first to pass, before we stir up the mud. I, personally, love the sight of this clear water – and it is rarely like this. It needs at least four hours for the clay to settle back after someone goes through.’

‘How thoughtful of you’, I said with a sigh, already mourning my boots. However, he was right about the beauty of it: the landscape looked pure and untouched, as if we were the first ones in a long time to set foot here. Silence settled in slowly, only disturbed by the rare fall of a drop from the ceiling. I looked back at the others. Michelle and Lilianne were staring, seemingly captivated, while Axel and David grinned like pleased landlords giving a tour. I hesitated; stepping into the water felt like soiling its clarity. There was no way of avoiding it, though, and I took an unwilling first step forward.

A yelp escaped my lips when the icy water flooded my shoe, and I almost stumbled in surprise as the bottom proved to be deeper than I thought. My foot sank into the clay, which filled my sock and seeped unpleasantly between my toes. Bubbles rose and popped to the surface, accompanied by laughter from behind me. I shot them a dark look, and took another step into the whirling mud with a sharp breath as the cold crawled up my skin. I fought my other foot free, supporting myself on the walls, and it came out with a comical slurp.

‘Boldly going where no Dr Martens have gone before’, David teased me, and I promised myself I’d have my revenge some day.

Splashes announced the others had joined me, and I ploughed on through the water, hoping I wouldn’t leave my boots in the mud before I got to the other side. They weighed at least twice as they usually did, caked in clay as they were, and filled with water and sand. I looked around for a dry spot to sit and take them off, but the floor was as welcoming as a marsh. The guys’ high rubber boots and Lilianne’s wellingtons crossed effortlessly, although Axel had to bend in half under the low ceiling, and I felt a pang of sympathy at the sound of Michelle’s steps squelching through.

She joined me with a sigh, and a sorrowful glance at her shoes. ‘Well, rest in peace, I guess. Should’ve chosen more wisely…’

‘I still have some hope for my boots’, I said, trying my best to rinse them.

‘Are you coming, girls?’, Axel called from the other end of the gallery. I hadn’t even noticed they’d gone so far, and I suddenly became aware of the darkness prowling at close range. Although my lamp could reach the end of the tunnel, the shadows creeped closer on the opposite side, always behind me, ready to snap at my heels. I shivered, and walked up to the others as quickly as I could without seeming frightened, taking shelter in the nest of their lights. Fortunately, David and Axel were absorbed in a discussion about something on the wall, and did not notice my haste.

‘What are you boys talking about?’, Michelle inquired, joining us leisurely.

‘This inscription here’, David said, tilting his head towards it.

I took a step closer and stared at a weathered scribble, of which I could only decipher “2e Qe avril 18..”, followed by more scribbles and an arrow pointing down.

‘The arrow could be signalling a bell-hole that has been consolidated from the surface’, Axel pondered out loud, then inspected the rough stone of the ceiling. ‘Although there is no masonry to show for it, so… I have to admit I'm confused.’

‘Oh, something you don't know’, David joked mischievously.

‘What if… hmmm’, Michelle trailed, leaning in for a closer look.

‘What is it? Can you make sense out of it?’

‘Well, I'm far from being an expert on these things like you two, but… Wouldn’t this say “deuxième quinzaine d’avril”, maybe?’

‘Second fortnight of April’, Axel considered. ‘That might just be right. In this case, the arrow would indicate what part of the wall was done at that period. I will check that as soon as I get home. Thank you.’

Michelle glowed. ‘Glad to be of assistance.’

‘I hate to interrupt your historical symposium, dear brother’, Lilianne piped in, with a sarcastic emphasis on the last words, ‘but can we get a move on? It's getting cold, and’, her voice softened as she glanced shyly at the other girl, ‘I'm sure Michelle's not very comfortable in her wet shoes.’

Axel stared at each of them in turn, as if assessing the situation, then turned on his heels and took the lead once more, without a word, his face clouding. Even though my dislike for his sister grew each time she spoke, I had to admit I was grateful to get moving again, as my feet were getting numb with the cold that spread its roots through my flesh and down to the bones. I could tell Axel was bothered by something, however; was it Lilianne's lack of interest for the place he loved most, or was it something else? I mulled over the question, realizing he had also seemed uneasy whenever David and I were having a moment, and scolded myself for not having noticed over the years of our friendship.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost bumped into Axel when he stopped abruptly.

‘I think you were right, Michelle’, he said, pointing at the wall.

The inscription, neater than the one before, read “1re Qe avril”. Hesitantly, I reached towards a letter with the tip of my finger. For the first time in my life, history became alive, concrete. What lay before my eyes was not the unimaginable scale of human history, but a small moment, a piece of a worker’s life, someone whose name wasn’t remembered any more, and who had left only a handful of fragile letters on their anonymous work. This morsel of time drew me in inexplicably; I wanted to touch it, to feel its presence, but it seemed as frail as the powdery wing of a butterfly. I was startled when Axel gently pulled my hand away.

‘It’s better that you don’t’, he whispered, but his smile showed he was touched by my interest.

‘There’s a femur over here!’, Michelle called out from ahead. ‘What’s it doing here?’

‘Maybe one of the tenants took a walk to stretch their legs’, David joked, but Lilianne shot him a dark glance, cowering behind her friend.

‘That isn’t even remotely funny’, she muttered.

‘There is nothing to be afraid of. These bones have been here for two hundred years, when the cemeteries were emptied into the quarries’, Axel explained reasonably, taking up his role as a guide once more. As we reached the end of the gallery and spilled into a crossroads, a slight breeze slithered across my face, and he pointed up. A round shaft, its masonry stained with dark brown and slimy green, opened above our heads. Our lights were swallowed in its shadows, unable to reach the top.

‘When the graveyards intra muros started to overflow, around 1780, and disease roamed every year, a solution had to be found. Guillaumot was put in charge, once more – and in ‘85, the bodies of every cemetery in Paris have been dug out and transferred to the quarries through shafts like this one. Sometimes, the bones have been arranged in ossuaries –’

‘Like the one we can visit? At Denfert-Rochereau?’, Lilianne interrupted. She was really starting to get on my nerves, and I wondered if she and Axel were really siblings.

‘That one came later, when another inspector decided to offer the families a place to pay their respects. Before it, they just put bones in a chamber and sealed it up. You will see what I mean later tonight’, he concluded mysteriously.

Michelle laughed and elbowed him playfully.

‘If you’re trying to creep me out, you’ll need more than just a bone. I’ve seen too many of those in class to be impressed.’

‘I’ll take your word for it. I have a few stories to tell, if you are willing to test that.’

‘Give me your worst’, she laughed.

‘As soon as we sit down for coffee, then. This way’, he added, and went down a set of spiral stairs I hadn’t even noticed, its stone steps worn with the passage of countless years and feet. Darkness swallowed the light of his lamp as he turned right into the bowels of the earth.

Questions for the readers