The Wapping Vault

The moon’s soft light showed a path overgrown with weeds, swamped with plastic bottles, beer cans, filthy tissues and other human crap. Fortunately, the ground was flat, so that any deviation from the path wasn’t likely to warrant medical attention.

In the distance, Eva could hear police sirens and revving engines – the usual sounds of London’s non-stop life. She clipped a flash to the top of her camera and followed the man in front of her, a stocky security guard called Warren. His job was to show her where to go.

As they got closer, the old Wapping warehouse loomed above them. Dark windows watched them, like menacing eyes. The building was imposing and spooky; Eva shuddered and zipped up her collar as if that would save her from something invasive.

She stopped walking and scrutinised the façade. The faded letters said tobacco, while on the warehousre next to it she could just make out chemicals and plastics. Around 1800, the East and West India companies had been set up for trading between Britain and Asia, the river Thames the means by which exotic imports arrived on Britain’s shores, such as tea and spices, cotton and carpets.

Warren was pointing, “We can get into the vault over there.”

Wooden planks criss-crossed to block an entrance and keep trespassers out; in case anyone was in doubt there was a red sign that said so.

“You sure no-one knows about this? Well, apart from your colleague?”

Eva nodded. “Positive. It's just a little newspaper story, that’s all. Relax.”

A police siren split the air and made them both jump. Warren shrugged his shoulders back into place, “So, what time’s your colleague coming then?”

“About ten. But I said I’d call him first to let him know we’re here.”

Eva bit the side of her lip. She felt uneasy and wasn’t sure why. This job was beginning to feel wrong. The editor had approached her to do a feature on ‘Are there any ghosts left in London’s derelict warehouses?’ At the time, she’d considered it a reasonable deviation from her usual mainstream writing – homelessness and inner city crime. This really wasn’t her thing at all. Of course, it was all about upping newspaper sales – there was nothing like a good ghost story.

She’d decided to base her story in Wapping in the East End of London. Last week’s recce of the area had shown that there weren’t many derelict warehouses left – they had been renovated and turned into pricey apartments.

Once upon a time, the streets would have been ringing to the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves; now they were just full of taxis and buses.

She looked down at her joggers and trainers; she would have given anything to be in a cocktail bar in her heels.

However, some of the old pubs were still going strong. Eva’s research had taken her into one called the Prospect of Whitby. It was famous for being the oldest riverside pub left in London, built circa 1520. The pewter-topped bar stood atop beer barrels, while ships’ masts integrated into the design gave the pub a nautical feel.

After ordering a glass of white wine, she’d noticed a uniformed security guard standing at the bar. She’d paid for her drink and sidled over to him, calculating he could be useful.

It was a good call. Chuffed at being singled out by the fittest chick in the pub, Warren had agreed to show her where the old haunted warehouses were. A third beer said he’d take her into one of them, and a fourth beer had him confiding that he’d seen ghosts. ‘Yeah, they were like, everywhere, know what I mean?’

And so the next evening, Eva found herself following in Warren’s footsteps – literally, as he had a knack of picking good ground to walk on.

Warren hadn't been too keen when she’d said that her colleague was joining them, but she wasn’t stupid enough to go into empty vaults with a strange man, even if he was a security guard.

Outside the warehouse, she decided it was time to call Tony. He had promised to be in the area, and to be sober.

She noticed that Warren seemed uncomfortable. “Just telling you, there’s a lot of bad stories about this one here.” He pointed to the warehouse in front of them. “I tell you what. I’ll take you to the opening over there, right? But when your mate comes, you go in with him and I’ll wait out here.”

Eva raised her eyebrows.“Really? I thought you’d been in and seen all the ghosts, Warren. I was hoping for an introduction.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, well. You know.”

Arsehole, she thought.

Tony answered. “Hi, are you there? And where exactly?”

Eva told him where to come.

“Okay. Give me five. I’m just around the corner.”

Eva smiled. She could hear chattering in the background and wondered which pub he was in.

She shivered involuntarily. It was a chilly evening but she well wrapped up. Weird. She considered giving up and joining him.

Suddenly, blonde, bearded Tony arrived, a broad grin on his face, making ghostly woooooh woooooh noises.

She laughed and was pleased to see him.

She nodded at Warren. “Tony, Warren, and vice versa.”

The men shook hands and the atmosphere lightened.

Warren took out a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tapped it, shaking one free.

“Yeah, I’ll wait here, have a smoke, if that’s all right with you?”

Eva glared at him. “Oh, come on, Warren. Please! We don’t know where the hell to go, and besides which, you promised to go with us.”

Warren was silent. He flicked his plastic lighter and lit the cigarette. Eva looked at Tony, and back at Warren. “I presume you have actually been in this warehouse?”

Warren blew out a stream of smoke, “Well, it was a while ago, you know what I mean?”

Tony laughed. “Come on, let’s get it over with. I’ll treat you both to a glass of wine or something later, okay?”

“Oh right,” said Warren. “I’ll come in with you then. No point in staying out here.”

Eva rolled her eyes. Men! Unbelievable.

They approached the mish-mash of wooden planks and after a few yanks and kicks, Warren had pulled a couple to the side so that they could enter.

The vault’s entrance, which was considerably larger than Eva had at first judged, was covered in ivy and creepers that hooked onto their clothes. Fortunately, everyone was dressed for ghost-hunting in vaults, including Tony, who had found jeans and boots lurking in his designer wardrobe.

“Whoa, a bit overgrown I’d say. Just look at this lot!” he hissed. “Like skeleton fingers, aren’t they? Reaching out to draaag you in.” He tickled Eva’s neck and she giggled nervously.

“Stop it, Tony, be serious. Haven’t you seen twigs before?"

“Not like skeleton fingers,” he hissed again.

Creep, she thought; and then, maybe that’s what she should call her article.

The three of them carried torches and simultaneously switched them on. The torchlight defined the damp walls of the vault’s entrance, while the light bounced off the walls and concrete floor. The place stank of stale air and damp bricks, making them gag. Warren was the reluctant leader, while Eva followed in the middle and Tony brought up the rear.

Suddenly, the area opened out and the three of them stood and looked around at the high brick arches above them.

“Oh, wow, look at this!” Eva exclaimed, grabbing her camera and firing off some shots, “This is fantastic. No wonder the developers are doing these places up. I never realised they were so big, did you? And this is only the vaults.”

There was no reply from Warren who was busy resurrecting his cigarette.

Tony put his arm around Eva’s shoulders and gave her a hug, “This is brilliant, Eva. I’m really pleased I came now. I wonder who’ll buy this place?”

Warren puffed out smoke. “No-one yet. This warehouse has been empty for ages. Too much money needs spending on it, know what I mean?”

Tony walked ahead, appraised the brickwork on the arches and aimed his torch at the ceiling. “Oh, there’s money around, Warren. You know what, you could do this place up and make a fortune. I wonder what was stored here?”

Eva told him that this particular warehouse was used for tobacco. She involuntarily shivered again and moved closer to him.

They walked slowly forwards, silently taking in the scope of the place, its history playing out in their imaginations like old newsreel.

Warren joined them and shone his torch around some more.

Tony stopped. “I just saw something!”

Eva sighed, “Yeah, yeah. Give it a rest.”

“No, I mean it. Some boxes, I think. Maybe some of the stuff is still here.”

Warren was shining his torch around the walls, but as soon as the light moved on, the darkness was complete again. Solid almost.

He laughed nervously. “I tell you something, if there’s some good baccy left here, I’ll do myself some nifty roll-ups.”

Eva aimed her torch so that she could see Tony’s profile.

He was looking unusually serious. “I definitely saw something over there. I think. Well, I’m not sure now.”

“Where?” asked Warren.

“Near the furthest arch.”

“Okay, mate. Let’s go over and have a look. After you.”

Ice-cold fingertips tapped at the back of Eva’s neck and over her skull. Her mouth felt as dry as old bone, but she managed to whisper, “I don’t know, guys. Be careful.”

Tony faced her. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Well, you know. I’m not used to wandering around vaults, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s your story, Eva.”

“Yes, I know that! But still, when we’ve looked over there, can we go? I’ve got some good pics and I can describe the atmosphere.”

Tony took her arm and with Warren at their side, they walked towards the back wall of the vault, aware that the air was much cooler. Tony had stopped making quips and was staring hard ahead.

“Hmm, can’t see anything, can you? Must have been my imagination.”

Eva looked at him, a sliver of ice slicing through her blood. “Well, what did you think you saw then?”

“Boxes.”

“Boxes?” She stared. “Oh my God! They’re coffins!”

Six dark coffins lay side-by-side before them.

Warren faced Eva and Tony, his face a montage of flickering shadows from flashing his torch around. “They weren’t there last time; I’d have remembered.”

He focused his torch on the coffins again, moving the light slowly over the rotting black wood. They looked ancient, from another era.

Although feeling shaky, Eva shot off some photos. The others watched as the camera’s flash froze the coffins in split-second bright light. No-one attempted to move any closer.

Eva took a deep breath. “I need that drink.”

“Agreed. Oh, sod it!” There was a crash and Tony muttered obscenities under his breath, while the darkness climbed in quickly to replace his torchlight.

“Oh, great, Tony.”

“Well, I didn’t drop it on purpose. It’s got to be here somewhere. Warren?”

Eva shone her torch in the direction of where Warren was last standing but found an empty archway instead.

“Warren?” she whispered, suddenly feeling the need to be quiet. There was an eerie silence. The stench of dampness and mould filled her nostrils, and her hands began to tremble with fear. “Tony?”

“What?”

“I don’t know where Warren is.”

“I don’t know where he is either and I can't find my damn torch. Just as long as yours lasts or we’ll never find our way out.”

Eva shone her torch in Tony’s direction, her heart thudding.

"Tony, for fu….. sake! Where are you?"

"Here, dear. As we always say, I’m right behind you."

But the voice wasn’t Tony’s. Or Warren’s. Eva was frozen with fear and let out a sob.

The voice had growled like it was from some demonic creature astray from the bowels of hell; the sort of voice that could only be found in those depths of the psyche where no-one wanted to go.

Oh God. Eva tried to scream but could only croak. Dreadful pictures strobed before her. Bloody bodies. Deformed creatures. In her mind's eye she envisaged herself lying on the floor with a huge cleaver embedded in her breastbone; she imagined a fiend with stinking breath picking at her stomach. She began to sink to the floor, her knees wobbling so violently that they refused to hold her up.

Not Tony's voice. Not Warren’s voice.

She sensed that someone or something was moving towards her.

“Who’s there?”

She tried to run but could only do slow motion. Her knees were jelly, her lungs stricken, and as she pushed her foot forward, she stumbled and fell hard onto the unforgiving concrete floor.

There was a blinding flash. She thought she’d banged her head; then realised she’d hit the button on the camera as she fell. For a split second, she saw a shape in the icy light. It quickly transformed into a mosaic of blue spots from the flash of the camera, dancing in mockery before her eyes.

A voice pierced the darkness. "Hello? Hello guys? You all right?"

"Warren! Warren get me out of here!"

Torchlight staccato'd over the roof and arches of the vault as Warren rushed over to her.

“Flippin’ heck, Eva, I didn’t know where you’d gone to. Where’s Tony?”

She sobbed, “I don’t know. Please can we go?”

The two of them followed the thin beam from Warren’s torch, and in seconds staggered out of the vault and into the airy night.

Eva gulped in the night air, feeling tears running down her face. From the vault she could hear shuffling; then a thump. All she wanted to do was get away from there as fast as her plasticine legs would take her. She muttered angrily to herself, From now on I'll stick to what I know. Stuff the editor and his sodding article.

She and Warren waited. Not a sound stirred inside the vault, or it seemed, outside it, although they weren’t far from the busy streets of Wapping.

Suddenly the creepers were pushed back, accompanied by various swear words. Tony appeared. He was holding his head and looked as if he needed help but Eva waited until he had reached her. Nothing would get her near that vault again.

When Tony staggered up to her, she grabbed his sleeve and stared into his eyes. "What the hell happened in there, Tony? Did you see anything? Why didn't you answer me when I was calling you?"

Tony leant on her. "Just let me get my breath back. Jesus, you gave me a turn."

"I gave you a turn! Really?"

Tony raised his arms, "I don't know, Eva, but I've never been so bloody scared in all my life. I think I passed out."

Warren spluttered, "I'm for a stiff one. Sorry about the pun. Come on, let's get out of here."

He slammed the planks of wood back across the entrance and kicked them into place. The vault was sealed again.

The three of them practically ran into the Prospect, almost colliding in their haste to get to the bar. Tony ordered three large whiskies, ignoring strange looks from the barman.

Warren swallowed his drink. "You two okay?”

Eva nodded, feeling the whisky making its way down her oesophagus and into her veins.

Warren nodded. “I've got to go. Oh, and by the way, I mean no offence, but that's the last time I'm doing anything like that!"

Eva turned to Tony. She was calmer now. "Did you see anything down there?"

Tony shook his head. "I don’t know what the hell happened back there.” He rubbed her arm, “You okay?"

Eva tapped her camera. "The flash went off, Tony. Shall we look?”

Tony eyed his empty glass, “What, now?”

“Yes, now.”

“From the beginning then.”

Eva scrolled through the evening’s photos. They showed the entrance to the vault, walls and arches. They eventually came to the six coffins lying side by side. Except…

Tony stared, wide-eyed. “Again, please tell me what the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Eva.

The last photo showed the six coffins lying side by side as they’d found them.

But it wasn't that that made them order another round of drinks.

The photo also showed that five of the coffins remained closed; not the sixth. The lid had been pushed aside and whatever had been in the coffin had climbed out. It was empty.

The picture also showed nothing more than a dark space.

And for that, Eva was eternally grateful.