Words About Caves

Stinson’s voice echoed off the walls strangely; the returning sound, although getting his words right, did not have the angel-faced one’s agreeable and slightly saccharine strain in it; it was a much deeper voice that came back and Stinson, who sometimes balked at his own falsetto (paranoid, he always felt his congregation was resigning from the Lord when he hit an emotional note in his sermons), was quite taken with this new voice the walls had given him – he might have even preferred it.  Little did he know, the effect was in fact no more peculiar than other echoes in the world.  Stinson had scant experience with environments such as this full of acoustical oddities.  It was another first for his lifetime.

‘It looks like a cavern alright,’ said Littlewood.  ‘That’s what cavern entrances usually look like.  But let’s not call it that until after we’ve investigated.’

‘We are not going in, are we?’

‘We are here.  Why would we not go in?’

‘I have not been inside a cave before.’

‘Ah, sure they’re grand.’

‘It looks like a mouth wide open.   Are we to believe the wall’s starving to death and it’ll have us for supper?  A carnivorous cavern?’

‘Well, it’s true.  They tend to eat you down, but they usually throw you back up again.’

‘Like your sardines.’

‘Yes, like the sardines.  We won’t go far in.  We’ll just have a look.’

‘Do you have a torch for the dark?’

‘Yes.  Though not on me.  There’s one in the bag.’

‘Great place for it right now.’

‘That mordancy doesn’t suit you, Father.  You have none of your colleague’s sourness.’

And Stinson tucked his tail between his legs knowing right well he would never match Masterson the master of acrimony for repartee.  And a good thing it was too, perhaps.

Before they even took a step towards the cave, faaa-caww faaa-cawww came again, and it was closer, discharging assuredly from that enigmatic hole in the wall in front of them.

Captain Littlewood had to give the terrified young priest a wee dig in order to move him forward, but the terrified young priest wouldn’t budge, so the Captain approached the cave by himself, proceeding at a slow pace with alertness in his steps. 

How rapidly his heart went as he got closer. 

He wasn’t as fearful as the priest, but he wasn’t stupid either.  He remembered his father’s words about caves when he was a younger man: ‘Don’t go in them, son, without a light on you.’  And so far he had heeded that advice; every cave he’d ever entered, he’d held a candle or a torch with him – that was the sensible thing to do.  He commanded himself not to go too far.  And coincidentally, behind him, Stinson also commanded: ‘Don’t go too far.’ 

He would observe all of these commands, for the cave’s blackness looked the suffocating sort.  Arriving at the entrance, he was struck by its caliginous front; the darkness was so thick inside it looked like it might not be a cave at all, and maybe the wall had just received an oil-black paint job. 

Faaa-caww Faaa-caww

It was still there.  And louder.  It was definitely coming from within the cave.  Scratching and rustling up through its dark throat.  Now that Littlewood was closer to the source, the voice, if indeed it was a voice, began to sound less human to him – and more like an animal.  An animal’s voice.  If indeed it was a voice.   

He took his left foot and gently skimmed it over the threshold.  

His foot disappeared.    

And reappeared when he pulled it out.

He was thinking this might be the darkest cave he had ever seen – because he couldn’t see anything.  

‘What do you see?’ called out Stinson.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘It’s a cave.  It’s dark.’